


Repainting

by Chzu



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Birthday, Drug Addiction, F/F, Flashbacks, Found Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lesbian Character, Mother-Son Relationship, Past Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Post-Episode: s05e16 Felina, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2020-01-05 08:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 52,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18362795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chzu/pseuds/Chzu
Summary: Alternatively titled, "In Which Jesse Pinkman gets Adopted by Lesbians"Jesse escapes from a life of pain and is found by a couple willing to help him out. Is recovering from so many horrors really that simple, though?





	1. MILFs 'n McDonald's

Jesse must be out of New Mexico by the time Todd's car breaks down. It's hard to know for sure, but he's almost certain he's out of state, given the fact that cactuses have been replaced by trees and the sky above is loaded with murky, rain-filled clouds. He's not exactly sure where he is, maybe Colorado or somewhere in Utah, though the exact location doesn't particularly matter when his only means of transportation is no longer functional. The shitty thing kept making grumbling and scraping noises for the later half of his drive, though with Jesse's desperation to flee, he could only hope that it would get him to safety.

When the car breaks down, so does he. He's managed to keep the hurt and ache in this long, but the reality of his situation hits him hard and leaves him an inconsolable mess. He quivers and trembles as the sobs rip through him, knees pulled up to his chest (a manner he often sits in while upset, a remnant of childhood) in the front seat. A scarred face buries into scarred hands as he melts down, heart heavy with dread and mind overwhelmed beyond comprehension. Jesse is free–holy shit, he's free!–but he's also so, so alone. He can remember saying something, that he'd never been more alone, back when he was in the hospital after Hank beat the shit out of him. Well, that is precisely how he's feeling now, though it's much, much worse.

There's dread pooling in his stomach and threatening to overflow at the thought that this is how it'll all end. Jesse Pinkman, survivor of six months of torture and slavery, might just end up getting arrested because of a fucking car breaking down. He can't imagine the odds are great for him right now; considering his fingerprints are all over the compound and the fact that Todd beat the confession tape's location out of him. Oh, and the fact that Mr. White– _Walter White_ –was there at the compound. He was shot, so his blood's gotta be all over the place, right? He's probably dead. (Jesse hopes he's dead. He desperately hopes it.)

So, he's just out here, crying in a broken down car on the side of the road—and, God, he cries. Jesse has never been the type to so easily hide his emotions. Hell, even when he was a young boy, he was the kid who cried over accidentally stepping on a beetle, or some shit like that. He's always been soft-hearted, even when the guilt of his own actions suffocated him at every given opportunity. Even after Jane, after Gale, after Andrea — after _this_ . Hell, _especially_ after this.

Though, Jesse doesn't even know who the fuck he is now, after six months. He couldn't tell someone if he tried. Being sensitive might stay with him, but what else will? How's he gonna function like this?

It feels like even going by his own name would be a disservice to who he used to be, the kid who made stupid decisions and wore huge bright hoodies. The kid who Mr. White would call a _dumb junkie_ and verbally abuse at any given opportunity. The kid with even a chance at a shot at some kind of future. What happened to that guy?

Beyond that, what's left for him? Jesse has no one left, and absolutely nothing to his name. Nobody's left to tell his story or remember what he's been through. Maybe that's a good thing in the long run, an opportunity for a fresh start; but, for now, it just feels lonely.

Jesse's been sitting in this banged up piece of shit car for maybe half an hour. Fitting, how it's about as dead as its owner is now. Out of every life Jesse's taken, he regrets Todd's the least.

It wasn't the gas that did it, because he refilled the thing not long ago. The experience itself was nerve-wracking. His heartbeat was so intense when he stepped out of the car, he thought that his chest might explode. It was in the middle of the night, and nobody was really even around. The sunken-eyed, tired employee working at the desk didn't even blink at the sight of Jesse when he limped in. The lady was most likely underpaid and probably exhausted, which worked well in Jesse's favor, though the anxiety of paying for gas and buying food was still horrifying. Jesse hurriedly paid for the gas and left as quickly as he could.

Jesse watches the cars fly by on the long stretch of highway beyond him. He can't just stay like this forever, sitting in a car that won't get him anywhere. The voice of the guy running the NA meetings echoes through his head. _Kafkaesque_. That word has its use for this situation.

Just where he'll go from here, he's not entirely sure. Maybe hitch-hiking is all that's left for him. Maybe that's a horrible idea, considering he's potentially considered a fugitive, but it's all he's got here.

After hurriedly wiping everything in the car down–anything that his fingerprints could possibly be on–Jesse pushes himself out of the car with a heavy groan. Even basic movements like this cause a resounding pain to carry through his body. He watches the cars again for a moment, and then, giving one last glance at the car, he shuts the door and begins to walk. There's nothing left to leave behind, anyways. Figures as much, that he'd make the sick fucks who'd enslaved him millions of dollars and yet emerge with nothing for himself.

Not that he'd want that kind of money, anyways. Money's kind of ruined for Jesse nowadays.

The morning air is humid and uncomfortable in a way that makes Jesse's fucked up joints hurt like crazy. It didn't rain all that much in the compound, but when it did, it was heavy, and Jesse could practically feel the additional ache that warned him of the change of weather. Jesse vaguely remembers learning about the pressure changes in high school, though the actual lesson isn't anywhere to be found in his memories. Mr. White would've scolded him over not knowing the exact details. It's something about the rain, though, and how it makes shit hurt if you've got fucked up joints. Basically, Jesse's like an old man, feeling the oncoming weather in his bones at the ancient age of twenty-five. ( _Or, is he twenty-six already? He's got no clue what today's date is, whether his birthday's passed or not._ )

His joints aren't the only thing that hurt. If they were the only thing, he'd be doing much better than he is now. No, Jesse's in a world of pain, his skin marred and likely infected. His gait is an unsteady and wavering limp as he walks alongside the road.

He startles, admittedly more than he probably should, at the feeling of water falling onto him. Looking up to the sky with a hand to shield his face, it’s abundantly clear that it’s going to rain.

Again, the last time he saw rain, he was locked away in Jack's compound. The time spent there had come with varying degrees of Hell, though there's a special place reserved in his nightmares for when it rained. It wasn't so much the rain itself as it was the flooding, the way it filled the tiny underground pit they kept him in. God, there was a time or two that they'd pull the tarp off just to get a good laugh at Jesse while the pit flooded with water. A _sewer rat_ , one of those _sick Nazi fucks_ called Jesse, when he scrambled desperately not to let his awful makeshift bed get soaked, fought not to let the contents of that _bucket_ mix with water and make everything else even more disgusting.

God, the humiliation was endless. Even now, they seem to mock him from their bullet-filled graves. That's one thing Jack and his men did often–mocked and humiliated Jesse. In fact, it became considerably common once they realized that they couldn't beat him too hard, couldn't make it so he was unable to cook. They needed that money from him.

Honestly, _fuck_ money.

Eventually, Todd's car is far enough that Jesse can't see it upon turning around. It's for the best, he tries to tell himself, like it's gonna make this abysmal place he's in feel any better. He checks for exit signs; it looks like there's one up ahead, but his vision's too blurred by the rain and distorted by the headache that's overtaken him.

Eventually, he makes it to this tiny roadside cluster of buildings off the nearest exit. There's a McDonalds there and he practically pounces on the place when he sees it–it's more like a heartbreakingly pathetic waddle, due to the pain, but the intent is still there.

Todd didn't leave much money in his car. That alone is a massive surprise, given how loaded that dead-eyed, child-murdering creep was, but Jesse's got about ten bucks left over from him. It's enough for this, though. By the time he makes it there, the rain's turned into a downpour and he's thoroughly soaked through his– _again, Todd's_ –clothes.

Jesse steps into the restaurant. The place isn't overly crowded this early in the morning; there's a tired-looking man focusing on his baby, an older couple chattering away quietly, and a tattooed woman with glasses focusing on a laptop. Taking the bold risk, he walks up to the counter and orders a burger with a drink, silently praying all the while that the smell of rain will mask just how the reek of dirty he is. He doesn't know why talking to a cashier feels like the first time he's socialized in his life. Jesse used to be so natural, and now the world around him feels terrifying and foreign.

Once he's got his food and drink, he takes a seat by the window. He sits a table down from the woman with the tattoos. Jesse's stomach has been growling like crazy all night, and when he finally takes a bite of his hamburger, it's like he's eating the most delicious thing he's had in his entire life. It's like a goddamn five star restaurant all of the sudden, and for a moment he doesn't even care that he's tearing up over a cheap burger. It's food, and it's much better than what Todd and the others fed him.

The rain outside shows no signs of stopping. Jesse keeps his head down and face turned to the window as to avoid any eye contact with strangers. The less anyone looks at him, the better. If there's even a small chance that anyone will recognize his face, he'd like to avoid it. As he eats, he watches the rain and contemplates his next move. This doesn't really seem like the kind of place he can call for a cab; it's essentially the middle of nowhere, from what he saw while walking through. Jesse lingers for as long as he possibly can.

People start noticing once he's been there for much longer than an hour. He keeps getting judgmental glances from strangers that make him feel sick to his stomach. Everyone who was there when he arrived has left by now — well, with the exception of the woman with the tattoos, who's been occupying her laptop this whole time. She occasionally gets up to order something new to snack on. Jesse briefly makes eye contact when she sits down one of the times. It's not intentional, but she still ends up looking back at him with an almost casual look in her eyes. Jesse sinks back in his seat, unsure if the way she looked at him is a good or bad thing.

This doesn't feel normal or right. Jesse wonders why he'd just driven out of the compound so spontaneously. The thought of going home to his parents briefly crossed his mind, but he hesitated and chickened out just as quickly. His parents always had been judgmental of him, had always been harsh. What's to say they wouldn't just tell him off, or blame his own disappearance on him?

He had to wonder what how his mother might react, though, to him telling her the truth–that he'd been manipulated by his high school teacher for two years and was later given away into slavery by the same man. Would mom finally give a shit about him once she realized what her oldest son had been through? Would she welcome him with open arms or kick him out like she had so many times before?

"Excuse me, sir…"

A voice pulls Jesse out of his thoughts, startling him and causing him to jump a little in his seat. He turns to the voice only to see that it's an employee. Oh, _God_ , he really doesn't want to do this.

"Uh, y– yeah?" Jesse wrings his sweaty hands together, swallowing thickly as he looks over to the man.

He can't be much older than Jesse, possibly younger, even, and there's a deeply uncomfortable look on his face. "I'm sorry, sir, but we don't allow loitering here. I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you aren't ordering anything else."

Jesse's heart begins to race as he stares back at the other man, a wild and wide-eyed look on his face. It's still raining outside, and he's got nowhere to go. What if this guy recognizes him and wants to call the cops?

"Oh." Jesse swallows thickly, hands sweating and fidgeting anxiously. "Sorry." He really doesn't want to leave. It sounds so fucking stupid, but this is all he has right now. Of course, it's time for his emotions to be totally inconvenient; he can feel tears stinging his eyes over this. He internally berates himself for getting upset over something so meaningless. "I'm – shit, I'm sorry, man. I'll get out of here."

He grabs his tray and prepares to get up, which seems to appease the worker. Jesse is ready to leave, heading toward the trash can. Just as he begins to walk there, however, the woman sitting at the table near his speaks up.

"Hey, don't worry about the whole _loitering_ thing. He's with me."

Jesse turns to the woman, a panicked and confused look in his eyes. He doesn't _know_ her. Well, unless he's gone truly crazy and has forgotten a key person in his life, but that doesn't seem all that likely. Unable to think of anything to say, he turns to her with wordless confusion.

She just smiles confidently, looking relaxed as she beckons for Jesse to sit across from her. "We're old friends," she explains to the worker, who truly couldn't give less of a shit. The guy just shrugs, walking back to the counter as Jesse slides into the booth.

"Yo, what…" he begins, voice lowered and face clearly bewildered as he stares back at her. "What's the deal?" She's no old friend he recognizes. All of his friends are either distant or dead. Shit, is she from his _old life_ , like someone sent to kill him or drag him back into the compound? Jesse would have no way of knowing, would he? Oh, he feels like he's going to be _sick_.

It must be obvious to the tattooed woman, given her reaction. "Easy there. I just made that up to spare you some time," she tells him, her low-pitched voice smooth and relaxed. "You looked like you could use it."

Jesse looks up to her, clearly not convinced. "You sure? I mean, you don't – you don't _really_ know me, right?" Wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve, he shudders a bit. It briefly pulls his chafed wrist into view and his heart nearly stops when he sees the woman looking at it.

If she has any kind of reaction, it's gotta be internal, because she just looks back at her laptop, types something up, and shrugs her shoulders. "I'm pretty sure I don't, man. I _do_ have a question for you, though: what would you like to eat? You know, since I'm getting you food and all."

He feels weird about accepting food from a stranger, but _Jesus Christ_ , he's hungry as ever and desperate for more food. "I mean, like, _I'm_ – I'm not really all that picky. A burger, maybe?"

"Is that it?"

Jesse grabs a packet of salt from the table, deciding to play with it over making any eye contact. "Yes, please. Thank you." His words are as sheepish as his demeanor. This is the nicest anyone's been to him in way too long, and he doesn't know what to do with it. He has no idea how to react.

"Sure thing. Sit tight, okay?" The woman gets up, and Jesse's left alone. He looks over himself, at his handcuff-burnt wrists and scarred hands. There was a time when he would ease into an interaction like this without any struggle, but right now he feels like it's one of the hardest things he's ever done.

The woman with the tattoos returns with a tray filled with far more than a burger. There's a large container of fries and an apple pie that smells _so good_ , it makes his already-dry mouth water.

"Here you go. I got a little extra, but totally don't feel pressured to eat it all if you can't." The woman sets the tray in front of Jesse.

Upon closer examination of the woman, Jesse finds that she's a good bit taller than him, with long and light brown hair that cascades over her shoulders like a waterfall or some poetic shit. Her arms are covered with intricate tattoos of flowers and animals. They remind Jesse of something that Jane maybe would've drawn. The woman looks older than him, by at least ten years, though she's quite attractive. She's got a sharp-looking light blue button-up shirt with short sleeves, and slick black pants. Before she sits back down, she adjusts her thick-rimmed glasses, offering Jesse a relaxed grin.

"I, uh…" Jesse starts, putting down his salt packet to look over the food. "This is nice and all, and I'm sorry, but I can't really pay you back, yo."

The woman shakes her head. "I don't expect you to. Really, it's no problem. I don't want you to go hungry."

Running a hand over his scarred, bearded face, Jesse nods his head, offering a nervous but grateful look at the woman. "That's – um, it's really cool of you to do that. Thanks."

Jesse begins eating right away. If that burger before had been good, this was practically the best ever. Not that he had standards, but it was amazing nonetheless.

After Jesse's been eating for a few minutes, he decides to break the silence. His gaze falls upon her arm, to a rather vibrant tattoo of a ram skull with roses growing out of it. "Sick ink. I like the skull one."

A smile shows up on her face, and she reflexively glances to her arm. "Oh, thanks. I actually got this one pretty recently. Designed it myself."

Her words cause Jesse's eyebrows to raise. Now he really _is_ reminded of Jane. "Oh, yeah? Are you a tattoo artist?"

She nods, looking back to Jesse. "I used to be. I'm just a regular artist now. I do freelance work. I still like designing tattoos, though. They never grow old." Her deep brown eyes wander to Jesse's wrist, and he grows self-conscious that she might comment on the marks left by handcuffs. Instead, though, she just points and says, "You like scorpions, huh?"

Jesse looks to his own wrist, setting his food down to show off his ink. The black's a little faded by now, but it's remained with him through a lot. "I do," he answers with a nod, the tiniest hint of pride audible in his voice. "It's a borneo scorpion. They're for, like, _protection_ and stuff." Ironic, considering the trauma he's been through. He doesn't feel very protected. Though, he _is_ alive in spite of it all, so maybe that's what counts.

"That's pretty badass," he hears the woman tell him. She's leaning on her elbow, sipping on her drink when Jesse looks back at her. After a second, she continues. "Being protected is a pretty important thing. You got any others?"

Oh, Jesse does have others: a dragon on his chest, and a sugar skull on his back! He's about to tell her about both of them before he jarringly recalls the state of his body. Neo-Nazis didn't take kindly to seeing a tattoo inspired by Mexican culture when it was on the body of their _meth cook slave._

So, Jesse just vaguely gestures to his chest. "I got a dragon around here. What about you?"

The woman holds a left arm covered in a full tattoo sleeve. There are flowers and vines, animal bones and birds. They'd look rather dark in subject if not for the pastel colors they featured. "It's mostly my arms, but I have some on the rest of my body, too."

Jesse watches over her arm as he eats, noting the details on it. "That's pretty dope. Did you, like, draw all of that too?"

"Not all of it, but I did a good portion," answers the woman. She appears pleased that he's interested in her tattoos–which is great, because it's proving a very welcome distraction from Jesse's nerves. It's been far too long since he's had a conversation this decent and humane. He doesn't often get to talk to other artists, either; focusing on interests over injuries is far preferable.

(Then again, he hasn’t gotten to talk to _anyone_ in any amount of depth in well over six months.)

Jesse offers a hint of a smile in return. It's hard not to smile at least a little when this lady's being so friendly with him. "That's cool. You're good at drawing. I used to do some art, myself, but, like – it's been a while." Taking a sip of his milkshake, Jesse thinks about how much he misses drawing. God, he used to have _hobbies_. What was that even like?

"Yeah? What did you like to draw?" The woman leans forward in her seat, visibly curious. She doesn't just appear to be indulging him; she looks genuinely interested in a way that nobody's been in his art since Jane.

 _Ouch_ , Jane keeps coming to mind.

Once, before it all truly went to shit, back when Jesse was living in the duplex with _her_ , he'd taken on a project in his free time. Contrary to Mr. White's belief, he did more in his time off than _smoking marijuana, eating Cheetos, and masturbatin_ g – as his former teacher had so rudely presumed. No, this project was an animation that he'd dedicated hours upon hours to. He poured his heart into making an animation of him and his friends (and, of course, Jane) as superheroes. _Team SCIENCE_ , he'd called it, and it was one of the most dedicated things he'd ever done! He even dedicated it to Walter White himself, the very man Jesse wasted so much time looking up to.

He never ended up showing it to Mr. White.

Things got bad not long after he finished it.

Suddenly feeling a little bashful, Jesse dismissively waves his hand, shrugging as he answers the woman's question. "Oh, y'know, just like – superheroes 'n stuff. I dabbled in animating a little, too, back in the day."

 _Back in the day._ Jesse's like twenty-six or something and he's talking like he's a fucking relic. He really does feel so much older now, though.

"Super heroes? That's pretty cool. Sounds like the kind of thing my daughter likes."

"Yeah, right on," Jesse answers with a slow nod. "You got a kid?"

The woman's face brightens as a proud mother's would. It's actually pretty endearing. "I do – a sixteen-year old. Her name's Sylvia. She's a cool kid."

"That's real nice." Now, Jesse can certainly understand that; he's always loved kids. Ever since his little brother Jake was brought into the world, Jesse's had a soft spot for young ones. "I got a little brother around that age. Jake. He's a good kid."

Certainly, among that, he can appreciate mothers. (A younger, more rambunctious Jesse would've been gleeful over this interaction, what with his love of _MILFs_ and all. That hasn't really left him, but there's no way he's about to start hitting on this lady he just met, pretty as she is.)

The woman seems interested. "I'm so glad. Kids are great to have around, huh? I don't know where I'd be without my girl. Are you and your brother close?"

 _Close?_ Jesse sure wishes they were. The last he saw Jake was when his parents exalted him from his own home after taking the blame for Jake and his skunk weed. He has no idea what the kid is up to now, and that just breaks his heart.

"Nah, not really anymore," Jesse answers sullenly. "We used to be real close, but my folks didn't like me bein' around him after a while, so..."

He'll leave that there. It's not exactly an easy subject to go over, especially not when Jesse's mental health is unsteady at _best_.

"Well, that doesn't sound very fair at all. I'm sorry," the woman replies.

Jesse shrugs, letting out a sigh. "Yeah, it really sucks. I miss the kid. Like, he's real smart but I worry that my folks just push him, y'know? They've always been, like, real strict and shit." He's almost done with his food, so he starts eating slower in hopes of biding his time. Honestly, he's enjoying this little interaction more than he anticipated. This lady's already shown him more kindness than the vast majority of people in his life.

"Sounds like my parents," the woman replies with a short, low laugh. "My existence was basically hell on earth for them and their _reputation_." She glances back to her laptop for a moment, taking a sip of her coffee before her eyes land back on Jesse. "So, what's your name? Mine's Deanna."

"Jesse," replies Jesse before he can even think. It's a fraction of a second later that he realizes that sharing his name is probably a terrible idea. Quickly, he backtracks. "Uh, Jesse… Margolis." Yeah. That works. Totally not suspicious, not at all. Damn it, he should've taken some time to think of a decent alias before this.

Deanna doesn't even blink at his totally bullshit last name, fortunately. Jesse can only hope that it's a good thing, though he has to wonder why this woman isn't reacting nearly as much to his injuries as everyone else has. She's just here, carrying on regular old conversations about tattoos and family with a man who looks and smells like he just got yanked out of a meat grinder. Sure, she seems level headed enough, but is she _really_? Is she actually out of her mind, or maybe hiding something dark?

No, she just reaches out to take Jesse's hand and then gives his a proper shake, like this is normal shit she sees every day. "Hey, it's good to meet you, Jesse. Are you from around here?"

"Nah. I'm from New Mexico, uh, Santa Fe." _Close enough_ . Deanna's hand is warm and soft against Jesse's scarred, calloused digits, and he has to take a second to contemplate if any of this is _real_. It doesn't feel like it's actually happening. "I'm traveling."

"Where are you headed?" She's asking too many questions.

"Anywhere, I guess."

The truth is that he's wanted to go to Alaska all this time, though it's feeling less and less likely the longer he sits here. Maybe Alaska is just a fantasy, a metaphor for safety or something like that. It's not like he can really afford to run away there right now, with his _less than ten dollars_ and lack of transportation.

"I gotcha," Deanna says in a totally chill tone, focusing on her computer again. Jesse can't help but wonder about what she's been doing all morning, considering she's been here longer than he has. She's quiet for a while, and so is Jesse. He finishes his food, beginning to tremble a bit when the silence lingers for too long. Deanna must notice this, at least, for she looks back over to Jesse after a moment. "Do you have anywhere to stay?"

Well, that's a big negative from Jesse, unfortunately. "N– no."

"Do you _need_ somewhere to stay?" Concern is visible upon Deanna's face. It's a _concerned mother_ kind of look she's giving him.

"I – I mean," Jesse struggles to reply to this. Suddenly, he's nervous all over again. He's not sure what she's trying to ask him. "I guess I kinda do. I don't really have anything to pay with, though."

Deanna closes her laptop abruptly, her expression soft. "You want to come home with me? I don't live too far from here."

Jesse's eyes widen. She's really just offering to bring him home? What is this, some kind of weird hookup? Deanna doesn't seem like she's flirting with him, but why else would she want to bring him back with her? Swallowing anxiously, Jesse turns toward the rain-fogged window. "Why? Do you – do you _want_ something from me?" There's enough implication in his words. Oh man, he's _blushing_. This isn't the kind of thing he was planning on at all. He hasn't been with anyone since Andrea, he's not even ready yet.

"No, not at all," Deanna clarifies with a shallow chuckle under her breath. "I just meant that I can offer you a shower and a place to stay the night, man. You look really tired."

"Oh." Jesse scratched at the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed that he’d thought such a thing. "That would be pretty cool, but, like I said, I don't have anything to give you. I don't wanna bother you or your daughter."

Shaking her head, Deanna begins to get up from the booth. "It's seriously not a problem. You ready to go?"

By this point, Jesse's finished with his food. He glances at the trash-covered tray before looking back to Deanna and nodding his head. "Sure. Thanks for your help. You're, uh, really cool to do this for me." Standing with a pained grunt he tries desperately to muffle with his sleeve, Jesse looks at Deanna expectantly, awaiting her direction.

The rain pelts them as soon as they leave the building. Jesse rushes to follow, even though he's barely accustomed to running without his legs chained anymore. He imagines his gait must look real ridiculous after that, though it's fortunately easier to focus on getting into shelter than it is to dissect every detail about how weird he probably looks.

Deanna's car is dry on the inside, which is nice, but Jesse's certain he's going to dirty it up by virtue of being in it. She notices Jesse shivering when she hops into the front seat.

"You cold?" She asks. Jesse nods, and it prompts Deanna to turn the heating on full blast. Much better. "This should hopefully do the trick."

Jesse's rather quiet as Deanna pulls out of the parking lot. He's not entirely sure as to what he could say here. Part of him really wants to know the date and time, and … _Hell_ , even the location he's in, too. Asking that will surely make him appear insane, though, so he holds his tongue.

Deanna has no problem filling the silence. "Is there any kind of music you want to listen to, anything you like?"

God, she's giving Jesse so many choices. Back at Jack's compound, choices were a far off memory, something he had only in his dreams. In fact, asking for basic things was punishable by jeering insults at best and beatings at worst. Jesse gave up feeling like a person with choices long ago. Maybe it was even before those six months that he started feeling that way.

"Me? I like… uh, y'know… rap, metal, hip-hop, reggae." Jesse sounds hesitant when he speaks, like voicing his own interests might get him in some kind of trouble. It really does feel that way, at times. Even _Mr. White_ had mocked him for his interests.

"Nice," Deanna replies, like it's nothing. "You cool with emo rock kinda shit?"

She feels like an entirely different type of human from the assholes who held Jesse as a slave. She's just some easy-going woman who seems to actually want to help Jesse instead of torture or harm him. No manipulation, as far as he can see. It's kind of weird.

Jesse nods, a bit delayed, trying to appear as normal and relaxed as he possibly can. "Yeah, totally. I'm cool with emo shit." He feels like he _is_ emo shit, too, so it's fitting.

The car comes to life with a familiar pop-punk song that was popular a few years back. Jesse startles slightly, and Deanna takes her eyes off the road for a second to give him an apologetic look. She doesn't keep the music too loud — it gets turned down quickly so it's just loud enough to be heard over the din of the rain and the hum of the running vehicle.

"So, uh, how far is your house from here?" Jesse doesn't mean to sound impatient, but he's not sure what else to say.

"It's about a twenty minute drive. My wife and I live in Boulder."

Now, that's a lot of information to take in. Firstly, he's driven close to Boulder after driving all night? _Holy shit_ . Secondly, this lady's got a _wife_. Not that it really means all that much, because Jesse's not judging, but that means she definitely (hopefully) hasn't been hitting on him, which is a bit of a relief.

"Colorado?" is all Jesse can bring himself to ask.

"Yep."

Jesse nods. "Cool. You got a wife, huh? And she's – she's totally cool with you bringing some random guy home like this?"

"Why wouldn't she be?" Deanna chuckes. "She's a psychologist. Super cool, sweet lady. Really, she's way more the type to do this kind of than I am, if I'm being honest."

A _psychologist_. What are the odds? An artist and a therapist, just totally cool with housing Jesse even though they probably didn't know jack shit about him. Then again, those were the types of people Jesse could see himself getting along with way better than most of the people in his life before. This woman, a mother, is already more accepting and sweet to Jesse than his own mother was when he last saw her. He has no idea what to think of that.

"Why are you doing this?" Jesse asks, considering her words. There's some hesitation from him.

"I don't like seeing people suffer," Deanna answers plainly in a way that makes Jesse's body go rigid. He's not sure why it feels so jarring to have his suffering acknowledged by another person like this. She looks over to Jesse briefly and places a hand on his shoulder. "A kid like you shouldn't be stuck out in the rain like that with nowhere to go. Helping out a little just feels like basic humanity to me."

Jesse looks back at Deanna, quiet, his eyebrows furrowing. Last person to call him a kid like this was probably Mike. It's that weird, pseudo-parental attitude that seems to pull Jesse in like a big magnet. Deanna's got it down to a fucking science, apparently. All Jesse can do is slowly nod, looking like a kicked, lost puppy. "Uh… Cool. Thank you." He can't help that his voice cracks a little when he replies. Running fingers through his beard, he turns to look out the window. It's hard not to be confused by this level of kindness, but he's not going to reject it. For the rest of the ride, he doesn't say much else.

It's still raining pretty heavy when Deanna pulls into the driveway of her house. From what Jesse can see, it's a cozy two-story, a good bit smaller than his own house but not enough to be considered tiny. It's decorated like a family lives there, with wind chimes and a garden filled with flowers and ornaments. Deanna presses a button and the garage door rolls up, and soon enough Jesse's out of the rain and into an artificially-lit, slightly dusty-smelling garage.

Rain splashes against the pavement from outside, filling the garage with a pattering noise. Jesse stares at it, watching the water fall down and coat the cement, turning it a wet dark grey color. It feels awfully bizarre, just being at a stranger's house after he was imprisoned in a hole in the ground for six months. It's like he's being called a rat and being made fun of incessantly one day and being welcomed into somebody's house a few days later.

Deanna says something that's hard to make out. Jesse turns to her, completely unable to register it. "What?"

"I said come on in," Deanna repeats herself, gesturing to the open door to her house.

Scratching nervously at the back of his head, Jesse nods, a bit embarrassed. "Oh, yeah. Sorry." He follows her inside as she closes the garage door. A hand on his back causes him to jump, and he looks to Deanna with widened eyes. Oh, _no_ , is she pissed at him?

"Now, you've got nothing to apologize for, all right?" Deanna directs a worried look at Jesse, though just as quick as that shows up, it vanishes into something more laid back. "You're all good. Make yourself at home." She lifts her hand from Jesse's back, gesturing for him to follow her inside.

Past a laundry room in a small hallway, and they land in a living room. Save for the sound of the rain and a ticking grandfather clock, it's quiet overall. The room's painted a faint, light, carefree yellow with deep brown and blue accents in the furniture. It's nothing like a Neo-Nazi's clubhouse, that's for sure. Instead of beer bottles and the smell of cigarettes, there are family-oriented knick-knacks and an air freshener. It's like being on another planet.

"You got… um, a nice house," Jesse attempts to compliment it. "I like the yellow."

That gets a smile from Deanna. "Thanks. Lily – ah, my wife picked all that out. She's out working right now, but she should be back with Sylvie later in the day."

This is far more wholesome than anything Jesse's been through. "Right on," he replies, making an emphatic gesture with his hand. He opens his mouth to say something else before he realizes he has no idea what to say to this woman. His tiredness and confusion are catching up to him quickly.

"Yeah," Deanna replies, drawing out the syllable. It would seem that she, too, is running out of conversation. She's looking out the window, a few feet away from a kitchen that opens up at the end of the living room. After a second, she regains her spirit, turning to Jesse with renewed attention. "Hey, let me show you around." She pats Jesse on the shoulder and then starts walking through the living room, pausing at a hallway which leads up to the staircase. Jesse follows limply.

Once they're up the stairs (which is quite a task for Jesse) and on the second floor, Deanna shows Jesse around. There's a bathroom and three bedrooms, one of which is a guest room. Deanna is sure to point it out, like she's implying that Jesse can stay there.

"Here's the guest room," she tells him, stepping in and flicking on the lights. She points it out, motioning toward the bed and bookshelves and cute little nightstand made out of old-looking wood. Jesse peeks in before glancing up at her, trying to figure out if she's welcoming him here too or just rubbing his homelessness in his face. Jesse hopes it's the first of those things, but he's too afraid to ask. It already feels like he's intruding.

"The bathroom's over there," Deanna tells Jesse once they're back in the hall. Pointing to a door by the bathroom, she's sure to add, "There's the linen closet, we've got all manner of fun stuff in there, like… towels and washcloths. Good to know. You're welcome to use the shower whenever you want."

Oh, a shower _does_ sound _very, very nice_. It's been far too long since Jesse's gotten a proper opportunity to bathe like an actual human being. He must be eyeballing the bathroom rather intensely because Deanna seems to notice.

"Did you want to do that now?" Deanna asks, having seemingly picked up on his lack of communication skills.

Jesse turns to her with another nod. "Yes, please." It's really sad that this feels like such a _privilege_ , but it _does_ , and Jesse _longs_ for that shower. "If that's okay."

"It's a _shower_ , dude. Of _course_ it's okay," says Deanna, seemingly uninterested in accepting Jesse's disproportionately massive gratitude. "Do you have any other clothes with you, Jesse?"

Jesse looks down at his outfit, grey and drab, and all comprised of Todd's old clothes. It's his last choice for an outfit, to be honest, but they're the only clothes he's got to his name. "Nah, this is all I got."

Deanna bites into her lip, contemplating Jesse's words. "Hm. Okay. I can throw that in the wash for you, but you're gonna need something clean in the meantime. If you're cool with borrowing my clothes, I can pick out the, uh… most _butch_ thing I own. I tend to go for menswear half the time, anyways."

Jesse lets out a low, amused laugh under his breath, tipping his head downward. "Yeah, that's absolutely fine. I'll take _anything_ over this, if you're really okay with sharing." He feels a bit shy about borrowing her clothes, but at least they won't be stained with blood and sweat and the memory of Todd Alquist dragging him around in chains. Jesse looks up in time just for Deanna to snap and make a _finger guns_ motion with her hands.

"You got it, Jesse. I'll leave something outside the door. Come find me downstairs when you're good and ready. There's disposable razors in the cabinet by the toilet."

Before Jesse knew it, Deanna's disappeared down the stairs and Jesse is on his own again. He goes to take a shower.

 

* * *

 

 

"Jesus, Toddy, you ever bathe this son of a bitch? Smells like a fucking _porta potty_ down there." Jack stood over the grate, sneering down at Jesse in his pit. "You've had him for, what, a month now, and you haven't cleaned him?" Jack nudged Todd, who stood next to him, looking completely unaffected.

"Not really, uncle Jack," Todd replied with a shrug of his shoulders, looking down at the quivering, broken man below. His own dirty work, literally. "I guess I thought he'd take care of it on his own."

Jack directed a completely bewildered expression at Todd for a few seconds before breaking out into a fit of laughter and giving his nephew a hearty pat on the back. "You're really something, Toddy boy." He looked down at Jesse, continuing to speak to Todd, "Well, you gotta do something, since he's _your_ responsibility and all. Take him out and give him a good hose down, or some shit."

"All right, uncle Jack," Todd said, moving to grab the ladder. Jesse watched with sickening anticipation, backing up into the corner to the best of his effort when Todd threw down the latter and began his descent.

"Come on, Jesse," Todd beckoned to Jesse, crouching and holding his hands out.

Jesse, with half of his face still broken and swollen, looked at Todd with tears flooding his one good eye. "Hey, man, I'm fine. I don't really need this." It was going to hurt, and that was all he knew. "We can just— _please_ , let's just skip this."

"Now, there's nothing to be afraid of, Jesse," Todd told him, grabbing Jesse's unwilling and chained hands. He lifted Jesse to his feet with an abrupt pull that made him cry out in pain. Something must've been dislocated.

Jesse couldn't help the horrified, audible whimpers that escaped him as Todd pushed him along the compound's main area. Everything hurt and he was absolutely terrified of whatever would happen next. Eventually, Todd came to a halt at a spot, outdoors, with a water hose. He chained Jesse to a poll, staring at him with dead eyes.

"All right, Jesse. You wanna undress for me, or should I help you?"

Jesse's eyes went wide. "I can do this myself," he told him, before pleading, "Please, just let me take care of myself."

"That won't be easy with those broken ribs," Todd said in a chiding voice that made Jesse feel sick to his stomach, approaching slowly in a sickening, looming way. "Let's get those clothes off."

 

* * *

 

Jesse blinks at himself in the mirror of Deanna's bathroom. Such a scarred, damaged man he is; he wants to point at himself and be like, _"Yo, who the fuck's this guy?"_ Because that just seems like perfectly reasonable, obvious reaction. Yet, there's no humor in it, and his bearded, fucked up face makes him want to cry all over again. So, he sheds himself of Todd's clothes as quick as he can and turns on the shower.

Oh, to feel the water rinse off his wounds. The grime that washes off him looks like the nasty stuff that used to come out of his nose after a dust storm. It hurts like hell, but if he turns the water up just high enough, the pain from the heat drowns out the sharp pain of poorly healed wounds. If he showers with closed eyes, he doesn't have to look at all of the gruesome marks embedded in his body as he painfully scrubs them clean. If he avoids thinking too hard, he can pretend he doesn't remember just how all of the wounds came to be.

Logic says that Jesse just straight up needs a doctor, but he can't exactly go to anybody reputable who will both take care of his body and avoid contacting authorities. Someone like that one cartel doctor he took Mike and Gus to would be perfect, but Jesse's not about to approach the cartel. Being involved with organized crime is out of the question. He'll try to find some way of dealing with this. Maybe Deanna will have a first aid kit she's willing to share, if Jesse's desperate enough.

Jesse's sure to clean as much of himself as he possibly can before he gets out of the shower. He couldn't help but feel self-conscious about that, the whole time he'd been around Deanna earlier.

He doesn't make use of the disposable razors quite yet, as he's not sure he'll be able to do a good job with shaving his beard, and it might look weird with the long hair he's got. Besides, he doesn't really trust himself with blades right now. Too risky.

It must be some kind of ultra fucked up tragedy that Jesse's actually reveling in having a bathroom with heat, privacy, and basic facilities. To live as a human being and not a humiliated slave feels like a great privilege itself. He wonders if he'll ever even be able to reintegrate into society after what he's been through.

A neat folded pile of clothing awaits him outside the door, just as Deanna promised. Jesse quickly grabs them and closes the door behind him. The shirt is a large black t-shirt with a white and red design on it displaying what appears to be the name of a band he hasn't heard of. The pants are a dark shade of grey. Fortunately, the outfit fits him and is even a bit loose, due to the height difference and his likely weight loss. It's comfortable, kind of reminds him of something he would've wore a couple years ago. The red accents on the shirt are nice, too. Jesse always has liked red.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Jesse heads back downstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i started pounding this fic out during my trip to arizona because i was starving for some self-indulgent content. there's more to come and i absolutely will upload more chapters if people like this!!! these lesbian moms do indeed have backstories and a reason for wanting to take jesse in, so keep an eyeball out for that Content, yo..............


	2. Free Man

 

Deanna is downstairs, just as she said she would be. Jesse walks in to meet her in the kitchen, his gait a bit staggered and unstable. Still, he tries to play it off like it's no big deal. Not for the sake of pride, but because he feels so intrusive here, and he truly does not want to be a problem for this woman or her family.

"Hey,” he greets, casual as he can be.

Smiling at Jesse in a relaxed, leisurely manner, Deanna nods her head at him with acknowledgement. "Hey, Jesse. Those clothes fit you all right?" When Jesse nods, she continues. "Sweet. Can I get you anything from the kitchen? Refreshments? Some Coke?"

 _Coke?_ Jesse's face immediately contorts into something unpleasant. She can't possibly be trying to get him _high_ right now, can she? Quickly, he shakes his head. "Nah, I'm… trying to stay sober." As tempting as it is, he can’t get back into that after the past six months of being _forced_ to make drugs.

Deanna just laughs in an amused kind of way. " _Hah_. That's a good one," she comments, pointing a finger at him and clearly mistaking his own confusion for a joke. She gestures to a two liter bottle of Coca Cola and Jesse feels so embarrassed that he almost chokes on his own saliva. Deanna, of course, just shrugs it off. "Useful information, though. I'll avoid offering you any booze."

"Oh." Jesse's eyes dart away, awkward. Why would he think she's offering him _drugs_ ? There's literally nothing to indicate that she would be. This isn’t the same old world he’s been living in. Jesse uncomfortably bites the inside of his cheek. "Yeah, of course. Glad you like my… _joke_ ." Yeah, it _definitely_ wasn't a genuine response or anything.

_(It was.)_

"In all seriousness, can I get you anything?" Deanna adjusted her glasses, looking over to Jesse with curiosity in her eyes.

Jesse shakes his head, not wanting to bother this woman any further. "It's cool. Breakfast's still holding me over, and all." His eyes wander around the kitchen, granite tiled counter tops clean but holding a bowl of fruit and a notepad as well as other assorted knick-knacks. The fridge is covered in magnets and a few drawings that look like they were drawn by a child: on each one, paper pinned with magnets in all four corners like it's begun curling forward from age. If Jesse uses his imagination, he can pretend he's at his parents' house. He thinks about how his parents still had his childhood art framed and hanging on the walls. He wonders if they miss him right now. He wonders if they'd even recognize him with the way he looks now.

"You got any scissors?" Jesse asks, gaze fixated on the fridge. After a moment, he looks back to Deanna.

"Sure do," Deanna replies, walking over to a drawer and pulling it open, not hesitating to retrieve a pair of scissors. She doesn't bring them to Jesse just yet, though, and instead watches him cautiously for a moment. "What for?"

She looks like she's worried for him, but it's not _fear_ like Jesse might have assumed. No, she seems less worried that he'll hurt _her_ with those scissors than she's worried he'll hurt _himself_ . If it's even possible to tell that from a single, wordless look. Jesse's pretty sure he's seen it in other people's eyes, though it's usually been more related to drugs and violence than _kitchen scissor_ s.

Not wanting to give her any suspicions, Jesse answers honestly. "I kinda wanna cut my hair." To emphasize that, he runs a hand through his tangled, thin mess of hair. "I– I mean, If you're cool with me borrowin' them."

Deanna's expression relaxes. "Oh, yeah. Of course. You want some help?" She snips the scissors emphatically, like a crab clicking its claws, holding them up in the air. "I'm not exactly a hairdresser, but I've got an artistic eye, if that helps."

"You sure?" Jesse's tentative, visibly and audibly. "I seriously don't wanna be a pain in the ass for you, or anything."

Deanna, of course, will have none of his attitude. "You listen here, Jesse," she says in the most _motherly_ , mock-stern voice in the world, "I invited you here because I want you here. You're the furthest thing from an inconvenience, you hear me? If you want me to cut your hair, I absolutely can and will."

Jesse hesitantly scratches at the back of his head. He wants to argue that he _is_ an inconvenience, that he's not a _good guy_ or anyone even worth being this kind to. That he's a criminal, a guy who shot an innocent guy to death and let his ex-girlfriend die because of his own foolishness. A guy who’s _buried_ people out in the desert in a barrel. He's not worth it, in his own eyes. Yet, he can't bring himself to look Deanna in the eye and disagree with her. So, instead, like he's speaking to his own mom, he nods his head like a shy kid. "Yes, Ma'am."

Deanna grins, gesturing toward the kitchen chairs for Jesse to take a seat. "That's what I like to hear. Well, minus the _Ma'am_ part, 'cause that just makes me feel _old_." She's much more laid back and humorous than his own mother is, that's for sure. Actually, come to think of it, maybe he's more reminded of Aunt Ginny than he is his own mother by Deanna. Like a younger, healthier Ginny.

That just makes Jesse want to be around her more.

So, he follows to the kitchen chairs, takes a seat on one.

Deanna steps away for a moment, and soon comes back with a small mirror and a hand towel. She drapes the towel over Jesse's back. "This is _kinda_ like a cape. I'm improvising," she says. "What do you want done with your hair? Like, what length do you want me to cut this to?"

"Shorter," Jesse answers. "Like, _way_ shorter. Maybe just leave an inch or two, or, like… _less_."

"I can do that," Deanna says. "Hold still for me, okay? Let's get all that excess hair out the way."

Jesse tenses under the feeling of hands on his head before he realizes it's just Deanna trying to hold his head steady. The gentleness in an unusual contrast to the last time somebody touched him around that area. It’s hard getting used to someone being so gentle with him.

"It's all right," she replies. "Try not to move around too much, if you can help it. I don't wanna give you a haircut you hate."

Jesse laughs under his breath, though it's rather listless. "Don't worry about it, yo. We can shave it off if it's bad, but I'm sure anything you do is gonna look better than what I can do."

"Well, I'll still do the best I can," Deanna says.

When she begins cutting his hair, however, Jesse only tenses up even more. With each snip of his hair, he becomes horrifyingly aware of how close someone's holding a blade to his head. Anything could happen. Deanna could prove to be some twisted, sadistic killer who takes young men home and scalps them in the middle of her cute little kitchen. She could totally give him a lobotomy or some shit with those scissors if she tried hard enough. Hell, she could be a totally nice person and still accidentally slip, _and…_

"You're doing good, Jesse," Deanna praises him, placing a hand on his trembling shoulder and knocking Jesse off of his dark train of thought. "You want to take a break? I can finish later if this is too much for you."

Bringing his hands up to cover his face, Jesse breathes unsteadily. "Yeah, I'm…" He doesn't finish his sentence without an audible sniffle between words. "I'm okay."

Deanna doesn't seem convinced, though. She sets the scissors down onto the table and spins around to face Jesse. "Hey, you sure? I can stop, if you need me to. We don't have to do any more."

Jesse doesn't remove his hands from his face, though, and only speaks muffled behind scarred digits. "I'm fine. Let's just… get this over with." He peers at Deanna between his fingers, like he's playing some fucked up version of peekaboo. "I'm okay."

Maybe saying that he’s okay will will it into existence.

Deanna's eyes are fixated on something, and at first, Jesse thinks it must be his face, but then he realizes that his chafed wrists aren't covered by long sleeves anymore. He's waiting for her to comment on them when instead, she says, "Okay." She picks up the scissors again and places a free hand on Jesse's shoulder. "I'm about done. Can you turn to me for a second?"

Reluctantly, Jesse moves his hands to reveal his face, though he doesn't make eye contact. He thinks he catches Deanna smiling a little out of the corner of his eye. Her hand is soft and she rubs his shoulder gently. Soon enough, hair is flying away from his eyes. That stuff's been in the way ever since it got this long. Subconsciously, he leans into her touch, desperate for comfort and warmth like he’s never been before.

"That should do the trick," Deanna says not long after. She runs a hand along Jesse's newly shortened hair, brushing the cut strands from his head. The physical contact is both overwhelming and intoxicating. Deanna hands Jesse the mirror and lets him look at her work.

It's not a bad haircut by any means. Sure, it's a bit choppy, but it resembles a shorter, slightly uneven version of what his hair looked like before he shaved it for the first time. Jesse can't look at the mirror for too long, however, lest he focus too much on the _scars_ covering his face. He looks to Deanna, nodding approvingly and managing a scant smile. "It's good. Thanks, yo." Running a hand along his newly shortened hair, he adds, "I wasn't really a fan of the long hair, so this is, like... _way_ better."

Deanna appears pleased, taking back the mirror when Jesse hands it to her. "I'm glad you think so, Jesse." She takes a few steps back, hands on her hips as she looks Jesse down as if he's a work of art she just created – a canvas for her creative outlet. "Yeah, I like that a lot better, too. You look like more of a gentleman now."

Jesse rubs the back of his neck, feeling a little bashful at the compliment. "A gentleman who just crawled outta hell, right?" His words are supposed to be a joke. Maybe.

Those words cause Deanna's smile to fade into something worried, which in turn makes Jesse regret even saying anything. "You've been through a lot, huh?" It's the first time she's really acknowledged his wounds, though Jesse now sees that she's looking to his wrists again.

He's not sure what to make of all of this attention. "Uh… I _mean_ , I—" Averting his gaze, Jesse frowns. It's no secret that he's quite fucked up from everything he's been through. Maybe some guys are good at hiding their pain and pretending there’s nothing wrong, but hiding feelings hasn’t ever been easy for Jesse. He’s always been an open book, for the most part. "Yeah."

God, he can only hope that Deanna won't ask for details.

"Are you in pain, Jesse?"

His gaze goes directly to the floor, but he nods quietly. His response is spoken barely above a breath. "Yeah, I am."

Deanna pulls up a chair, taking a seat near Jesse. He still can't bring himself to look at her, though it doesn't stop her from speaking to him in a gentle, level, but audibly worried tone. "What can I do to help you?"

Jesse sucks in a sharp breath, panic beginning to well in his chest. "You know, I think I'm actually fine. I just need some, _uh_ , rest or something." He's not sure why the idea of being taken care of is suddenly so terrifying to him, after everything Deanna has done for him. Maybe it just feels like _too much_. Maybe Jesse feels like he doesn't deserve this much kindness. He's not used to having a caring parental figure like this. It's confusing to his traumatized mind.

Deanna takes another look at Jesse's wrists, which are pretty red and sore. She doesn't seem fully convinced, but she doesn't push. "If you're sure, Jesse. The guest room is right upstairs."

Jesse gives a panicked glance toward the direction of the stairs. "Thanks. I…" He trails off, unsure of what he can possibly say. "Sorry." He quickly shuffles off of the chair and to the guest bedroom.

It's a cozy little place, with sky-blue painted walls and a bookshelf loaded with old books. Perhaps this guest room is a perfect place to fall apart. Jesse closes the door behind him and curls up on the quilt cover of the bed, not bothering to pull the sheets back.

His mind is overwhelmed with far too much. Twenty-four hours ago, he was getting woken up by Todd for another day of cooking against his will. Mere hours ago, he was getting pulled around in chains and getting called a _rat_ by Jack, getting humiliating jokes directed at him for how awkward his gait was when he was bound by chains. A few weeks ago, he was getting hung up by his wrists and receiving a brutal lashing for daring to defy simple orders.

Now, he's just… _here_ , a free man at last. Free, but with no home and no belongings, nothing to call his own and nobody he's truly close to.

Yet, all the same, a woman has welcomed him into the security of her home. Jesse still can't help but wonder why. Someone could've easily picked him up off the street and held him hostage just like the Neo-Nazis had. A person could've easily found him and killed him in the state he was in. Jesse is so vulnerable, so easy to take advantage of. Maybe he always has been, but now, with the psychological conditioning of being a slave for six months, he must be even more so.

By whatever odds, however, he seems… _safe_.

Jesse keeps expecting to wake up and find himself in captivity again. Running a hand along his raw, sore wrist, he feels the phantom pain of shackles binding him. Some part of him is convinced that he'll look down and see Todd's clothes still clinging to his body.

He can remember when they killed Andrea, Jesse was wearing the same shirt Todd wore when shooting Drew Sharp.

It's all a whole lot to deal with, and in the solitude of this comfortable little guest bedroom, Jesse allows himself to fall apart in private.

Eventually, in spite of his own mind running rampant, exhaustion finally allows him to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes his dreams lead him far back in time. A younger, more hopeful Jesse struggles to focus during chemistry classes and has to meet with the _douchebag_ teacher. Mr. White, with a head full of hair and that dorky-ass mustache, lectures Jesse about how he can't succeed if he's not applying himself properly. What Mr. White doesn't know is that Jesse spent all night comforting Aunt Ginny because she still thinks that Scrabble, the loose opossum, is scampering around beneath the house and through the walls. Jesse is fucking _tired_ , man, of course he ain't got the attention span for memorizing covalent bonds, or some shit. Whatever Mr. White teaches.

But Mr. White wouldn’t get that, would he? He wouldn’t get how easy it is to light up his troubles with a blowtorch and a glass pipe.

Yet, Ginny's not the only one with cancer, and it instantly spreads through Mr. White, flies buzzing around his head like a halo. Mr. White withers away into a skeleton and yet he still talks on about how Jesse's grades are failing, and that talk turns into berating Jesse for how much of a failure he'll become. Suddenly, Jesse's older and he's looking at Mr. White through the sickening amber red color of a barrel filled with acid and a liquified corpse. The blood-tinted acid overflows and drowns the classroom and Jesse feels himself disintegrate into nothing. All the while, he finds himself sickeningly accepting of his fate.

Then, he wakes up.

 

* * *

 

Mid-day light filters into the bedroom. Jesse stares out the window, curtains still open like he’d left them. It was a detail he hadn’t even bothered to notice before. The rain has since ceased, leaving the world outside damp but bright. He finds himself focusing on the puddles on the street, on the way they reflect light like mirrors facing the sky.

He's never really minded the rain all that much – at least, before being held as a prisoner. It's pretty, the way things look after a storm. The little neighborhood outside isn't quite as ritzy as the one his aunt lived in. It's a bit older than it, too. Though, Jesse doesn't mind; different isn't bad, by any means. In fact, maybe it's best to be somewhere that doesn't remind him of all the trauma. This house doesn't have a history of bodies getting flushed down the toilet, or insane drug-fueled parties, or Walter beating the shit out of him and telling him to end up dead in the middle of the desert.

 _Yeah_ , Jesse decides, _different is good_.

The sound of a door opening and shuffling footsteps can be heard from below, and it startles Jesse more than he would like to admit. There are people in the house, and that means people he doesn't know. Jesse feels hesitation at the mere thought of leaving the bedroom. Staying in here and intentionally avoiding people seems like a dick move if they're housing him for any period of time, though.

Jesse sits up on the bed, getting up after a moment and feeling his bones ache in protest. He wanders over to the door and opens it, only to find himself face to face with a stranger.

She's a younger girl, about sixteen with a freckled face and light brown skin. Brown hair falls to about her shoulders, and she's wearing glasses and carrying a backpack. Her warm brown eyes stare right back at Jesse’s baby blues.

Jesse, of course, is frozen like a deer in the headlights, instantly self-conscious about being here. What must this girl think about some _random dude_ being in her family home? It can't be anything _good_ , can it?

The girl, who must be Deanna's daughter, eyes Jesse up and down like she's scrutinizing every detail of him. Her eyebrows furrow, a bit cautious and perhaps even shy, herself. "Hey." She's soft-spoken.

Jesse takes a step back into the bedroom, but he waves a hand at her, slowly. "Uh, hey."

"You must be Jesse."

Oh, _god_. She knows his name. How doesn't she know his name? She didn't recognize him from the news, did she? Jesse nods hesitantly, stuffing his hands into his pockets to avoid bringing attention to his wrists. "Yeah, I'm… I'm Jesse." He attempts a smile, but it feels incredibly awkward. "You're… Sylvia, right?"

Sylvia nods. "Yeah, that's me." She points back toward the stairs, a small smile of her own showing up on her face. "My mom – _uh_ , one of my moms – told me about you. You know, _Deanna_. She said you were gonna stay here for a while."

"Yeah, I…" Jesse struggles with his words, still clearly not accustomed to socialization. It’s been a while since he last talked to a kid. "I guess so. Is that cool with you?"

Sylvia shrugs. "It's cool. Doesn't bother me, as long as you're not some kinda creep."

To that, Jesse doesn't hesitate to respond at all. " _God_ , no. I can totally get out of here if I'm creeping you out. I don't want any trouble, I swear." He has absolutely no intention of being disrespectful or creepy, especially not to this girl. He'd rather die than hurt a kid. Not that he's going to announce that fact plainly and loudly, but it’s the truth.

"We're all good, then," replies Sylvia, appeased. She glances into the guest room, then back at Jesse. "Did I wake you up, or something? You look pretty beat."

Rough choice of words. Unfortunately accurate, though, given his scars and bruises and chafed wrists. Sylvia appears to realize this after a second and quickly corrects her language. "Uh, shit, sorry. I mean, you look _tired_."

"Yeah, you're not wrong about me looking beat," Jesse jokes, trying to indicate that he's not offended by her words. Oh, the irony is so clear to him; he's gotten beat up countless times by countless people. Unfortunately, he's quite used to it by now. It’s nice for this girl to apologize, though. Most people don’t feel bad about telling Jesse how shitty he looks. "It cool. I just woke up, actually. Did you need to use this room?"

"Nah. I'm just getting settled after school. Gotta do homework, at some point. I'm not super excited about that."

Jesse can understand that. "I hear you. Homework's tough. I used to not like it either." And skip it entirely, but he's not here to put bad ideas in her head. "You learning about anything cool in school?"

"Eh." Sylvia's noncommittal shrug says enough. "I'm in theater. So, that's awesome. Other than that, it's all pretty boring."

"Theater, huh?" Jesse never got into that, himself, but he's nevertheless interested. He knows what it’s like to be a kid with creative interests, and he knows what it’s like to not have adults who are supportive about it. "That's dope. What, uh… what do you do? Like, acting?"

"Costume design, and a little makeup and stuff. I'm not half bad at it, either."

Sylvia seems proud of herself. It's endearing. Jesse always _has_ enjoyed being around kids, even the older ones. It seems that not even six months of torture and abuse could rid him of that.

"Right on," Jesse replies. "Keepin' it creative. You should stick to it, if it makes you happy and all that." Don't get into doing meth like _Jesse_ did, around that age.

His words get a smile out of Sylvia. "Thanks. That's cool of you to say." Glancing toward her own bedroom, she looks back to Jesse briefly. "I'm gonna go chill for a bit. I'll see you around. You should, like, go say hi to my _other mother_ when you're ready. She seems interested in meeting you."

"Right on, yo," Jesse replies as Sylvia walks off, trying desperately to sound like a casual, functional person capable of conversation. It seems that it's not all forgotten, but talking to people in a normal way involves far more effort than it ever used to before.

He got used to _not_ talking much, especially in captivity. Needless to say, Neo-Nazis didn't exactly have any interest in level, respectful conversation. Jesse can remember at least one incident where he got punched in the face for even trying to interact with them like regular people who weren’t his captors. Even Walter, who looked down on him from the very beginning, humored Jesse at times, but not _them_ . Their treatment of Jesse was a whole other level of inhumane. Hell, Jesse at times even forgot that he was still _human_.

He's still not used to being treated like a person. He hopes that feeling of unfamiliarity will go away soon.

Getting down the stairs is an uncomfortable task. Sure, it's much easier when his legs aren't shackled, but sometimes he still feels the phantom pain of chains, the sensation that his wrists and ankles are bound still. His walking must be so ungainly, and if anyone were to see it and point it out, he'd probably be in world of discomforting humiliation.

 _Fuck_ . Just thinking about it makes him want to go hide back in the bedroom. Yet, Jesse's reached the bottom of the stairs now, and Deanna's wife is in clear sight from across the room. The two of them are having a conversation about something Jesse isn't paying attention to when Deanna notices him and silently waves. That, of course, prompts her wife ( _Lily? Was her name Lily?_ ) to turn around and look to Jesse.

"Oh, hello," Lily greets Jesse with a soft smile. She's a good bit shorter than Deanna, with a freckle-covered face to match their daughter's and long, curly black hair that reminds Jesse a little too much of Andrea's. She's got soft features and a curvy body, just a little bit heavyset. God, if Deanna's been giving him motherly vibes, Lily instantly gives off double of that. She seems so instantly nice, and all she's said to Jesse is two words.

All Jesse can manage is a shy little, "Hey, Mrs… _uh_ , Lily," and a nervous attempt at a smile. He doesn't actually know what their last name is. He doesn't know how to act around two really sweet, kind moms when his own mother couldn't even manage a quarter of the energy they were both giving off.

"Lily works just fine," replies Lily with an almost melodic chuckle. "It's lovely to meet you, Jesse. I'm glad to have you here in our humble little home."

Why? Why are they acting like Jesse's some kind of pillar of the community? The _asshole_ part of his brain makes him want to say that he's not even worth having here, that he's killed people and hurt everyone he's loved by simply being around them. Why should anyone be excited to see him like this?

But, no. Jesse still can't do that. He can't bring himself to even talk back like that, given the fear of lashing out that the likes of Jack Welker instilled in him. Jesse, a complete psychological disaster, sniffles audibly, breathing out a sharp exhale. "Really?" _Curious_. His tone comes out more surprised than he anticipated. He still can't quite believe anyone would be glad to have him around, anyways.

"Yeah, really," Deanna chimes in before adding a whole new subject into the conversation. "By the way, Jesse, what do you like to eat? We were just talking about what to make for dinner. I figure since you're the guest and all, you might wanna suggest something."

"Oh, I'm cool with whatever," Jesse replies, scratching at the back of his neck. Honestly, he doesn't really know what to say; he really isn't used to having this many choices. "I don't wanna inconvenience you, or anything."

"Nonsense," Lily says, shaking her head. "It's really no trouble at all."

Deanna points at Lily, gesturing to indicate that she agrees with her wife. "Yeah, if you don't suggest anything, we might be plagued by indecision forever. You gotta help us, man."

"Okay," Jesse replies, giving in. He's certain that they're just trying to make him feel better by giving him this choice, but he'll take the opportunity, anyways. "How about, _uh_ … I don't know, lasagna?" He hasn't had that in a while, and it'd be nice to have something he used to eat in his normal life. _Scabby_ lasagna or otherwise.

"Hell yeah," Deanna replies favorably, much to Jesse's relief. "Let's do it, then. There's still time to get that going."

Jesse manages a little bit of a smile. "Nice. Cool. What, _uh_ … what can I help with?"

Lily shrugs casually. "Oh, you don't have to do anything. We've got this covered." She's focused on looking through cabinets when she notices Jesse's eagerness to help written all over his face. It's quite clear that he wants to do something, wants to make himself useful. Lily's expression softens, as she must notice that about Jesse. "You're more than welcome to help if you _want_ to, though. We can always use some extra hands."

Deanna adds, "Yeah, man, you wanna get the noodles out? They're in the cupboard to the right." She gestures to the mentioned cabinet.

"Totally," Jesse replies, going to the cabinet and searching for the noodles. This should be easy. He's barely ever cooked meals for himself, but if there's one thing he's good at, it's following orders. In fact, having an older adult guide him on what to do (in a nonthreatening, non-manipulative kind of way) is actually comforting. He's always been better at doing things, and much more motivated to do things, for others.

Plus, helping with this can't possibly be harder than cooking meth.

Getting the lasagna ready proves a fairly easy process. Before Jesse knows it, with the combined help of Deanna and Lily, the lasagna is in the oven. Once it's in there, the two women appear almost, well… _proud_ of Jesse. It's quite a pleasant surprise, and even if it's just a basic task like preparing food, Jesse feels a tiny sense of accomplishment.

He likes feeling useful, feeling wanted.

"Thanks for the help, Jesse," Lily tells him as she cleans up the cooking utensils. The praise instantly brings a smile to Jesse's face. It seems that habits like this die hard – the thrill that rises in his heart when someone is nice to him.

"It's no problem, yo," Jesse replies, leaning back against the counter, that familiar verbal tic slipping out without thought. Back at the compound, he never used the word much; he really couldn't be himself when held there.

"Food should be ready in time for dinner," Deanna says. "In the meantime, feel free to make yourself at home, relax, whatever you feel like doing."

"Yeah, of course," says Lily. "Our home is your home."

Jesse looks between the two of them, not really sure what to make of the offer, but he offers a sheepish smile anyhow. "Cool. Thanks," he replies, pushing himself off the counter and going to follow Deanna as she moves into the living room. He reaches back to pull at the dog run that isn't there and feels his heart practically jump out of his chest.

 _No. No, no, no, no._ He isn't _there_ anymore. That's not who Jesse is anymore. It's over. It's _over_ . He rubs his wrist, sore, but there are no handcuffs to hold him back. He's not back at the compound, so _why does he… Why did he…?_ God, he's revolted by his own behavior. There’s something clearly wrong with him for expecting what he did.

"Hey, Jesse?" It's Lily's voice. Jesse turns to her, unable to keep the horror out of his eyes. "Hey, can you come take a seat by me, sweetie?"

Jesse looks down at his feet to confirm his legs aren't also chained anymore. They're not chained. There's nothing stopping him from walking freely to the living room. It's not going to kill him. Todd's not going to knock on the door and politely ask if they have Jesse here and shoot these innocent people if they don't comply. He's not gonna tie Jesse up and make him watch. This place is safe. It's safe. It's _safe_.

Jesse awkwardly wobbles over to the couch beside Lily and holds his head downward in a mixture of confusion and shame. He really does feel like a fish out of water, like some kind of alien or something completely other from a healthy person.

"Jesse," Lily speaks to Jesse from beside him. "Deanna told me you're an artist. Is that true?"

Jesse turns his head to Lily, looking at her like he's afraid she'll do something to hurt him. Cautiously, he nods his head, breaking eye contact after a moment. His hands fidget continuously, and he notices there's still dirt stuck under his nails. Dirt, left over from months of being held captive with no hygiene. He has no idea what he's doing here.

"You know, I can get you some paper and pencil if you want to draw a little," Deanna tells Jesse. "Might feel good to draw something, since you said it's been a while."

Jesse looks to Deanna, stares at her for a moment, and then nods again, more slowly. "Yeah, uh, that'd be cool. Thanks." He's quiet, like getting out words is suddenly an impossible challenge, like if he speaks too much he'll break down. It's nice for her to offer, it really is. Maybe part of the issue is that he just really doesn't remember how to react to people being nice to him.

"It's really no problem at all," Deanna reassures. "I'll go get you some art supplies." She gives him a patient, understanding smile before walking away.

Jesse's left sitting here with Lily. After a moment, she fills the silence by asking a question in a gentle voice, "Jesse, are you in any kind of danger?"

That immediately catches Jesse's attention. His eyes widen and he looks to her. "Danger? Wh… no, I'm… I'm all right." His voice cracks as he speaks, as if it's intentionally proving him wrong. "Why?"

"Your wrists," Lily gestures to Jesse's wrists, and he feels his gut twisting with anxiety. "Is there someone out there who's looking for you? Someone who might want to hurt you?"

Averting his gaze, Jesse sighs. He's not sure what to do or say. It's technically not _wrong_ that someone is looking for him, given the possibility of being wanted by law enforcement. The men who did this to him, though, are all gone now. Mr. White's dead. Jack's dead, Todd's dead, the rest of those fucking sadistic skinheads are dead — well, with the possible exception of the ones who are still in prison. The ones Walter hired to off Mike's men, _now_ … they're probably still out there, and if there's a chance that Jesse could go to prison for his crimes, it means the worst may be yet to come.

So, Jesse nods, still looking down, like eye contact will sear him. "Yes," he murmurs, his voice again breaking as he imagines the possibility of it all. He wouldn’t last a second in prison. "I'm in danger, but…"

His next words are going to be hard to get out, but he forces them out anyways. "Please, don't… please don't call the police, or, like, the authorities." Running a hand over his scarred face and through his beard, he manages to look back at Lily with desperation. "If you don't want me here, I'll go, I'll do anything you want, just… _please_."

Lily places a hand on Jesse's, and the feeling of contact makes his heart race, but he doesn't pull away. "Hey," she says gently, gently caressing the back of his hand with her thumb. "It's okay. You don't have to go anywhere. You're safe here, okay? I just want to make sure whatever happened to you doesn't happen again."

Again, Jesse doesn't understand why anyone would be this kind to him, but he nods slowly, swallowing down a lump forming in his throat. "Okay." It's quiet, a barely discernible word. "Thank you." A pause, and he repeats himself, "Thank you. I'm sorry I'm … I'm _like this_. I promise I won't do anything bad here, I…"

Words are hard. He can't think of what to say, what to do. It would be so easy to go nonverbal, to just freeze up, but he feels the need to ensure that he's not going to bring any danger or harm to this family. He doesn't want to be the bad guy anymore. He can't.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, honey," Lily says to Jesse in an incredibly maternal tone of voice. "You're going to be safe here, I promise. If you're afraid something bad is going to happen, though, you can tell me."

Oh, damn it, Jesse's ready to start crying, _again_. He feels so small, so freshly terrified, and he absolutely hates that he feels this way. "I'm okay," he says, more to himself than anybody else, his eyes filling with tears. He wants to say more, wants to tell this woman he's just met about everything horrible he's gone through, because it's so painful and overwhelming to bear it all alone. He wants to reach out for help, in spite of that being so discouraged by everyone he's ever trusted.

Yet, Jesse has no clue _how_.

"Hey," Lily says, giving Jesse's hand a gentle pat, "If you'd like, we can sit down and talk about what's going on. I want to help you, however I can. Would that be okay?"

"I don't wanna make things weird," Jesse replies, as it he hasn't already been making everything weird by virtue of being here.

"You won't be making anything weird," reassures Lily. "We can wait until after dinner, if you want."

Jesse, attempting to regain his composure, nods again, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, uh… that'd work." Having some time to think over how he's going to word this will be helpful. He can't be entirely sure this woman won't report him to the police if he says too much. After all, being the best meth cook alive isn't really something he can casually mention, is it?

"All right, I found some stuff," Deanna's voice can be heard from the other room, and it prompts Lily to back off from Jesse, her hand retracting. It feels kind of strange to think that he immediately misses that basic, nurturing physical contact. Deanna walks back into the room with a sketchpad and a box that appears to be full of art supplies. ( _Not torture instruments._ ) She sets them beside Jesse on the armrest of the couch. "Go wild, dude. I have a good mix of art supplies in there."

Jesse offers a sheepish smile at Deanna and a thankful nod. It's probably not the most amazing thanks ever, but it's what he can manage in this state of mind. Running his hands over the box, he feels the surface of the slightly textured plastic. He thinks about how he got through so many hours of slave labor just fantasizing about… boxes. Not boxes made out of plastic like this, but wooden ones. He tries not to think too hard about boxes now, because that's not where he is, and frankly, he doesn't want to come off like some oddball who's fucking obsessed with boxes.

Fortunately, neither of the women are staring or even looking at him. Deanna turns on the television, a nature show. Thank _God_ , it's not the _news_.

Opening the box, Jesse looks over the art supplies. There's an assortment of pencils, pastels, charcoal, and pens. Jesse opts for a simple art pencil and begins sketching.

The nature show in the background is oddly calming, and he remembers that it's been a long while since he gotten to watch television. He hasn't forgotten _that_ feeling, at least. Thinking back on it, there are countless times where he used to annoy the shit out of Walter by reciting nature facts that he learned while watching Discovery channel and the likes. The _annoying_ part wasn’t intentional, of course; Jesse’s simply always enjoyed nature documentaries.

Time until dinner flies by much quicker than Jesse anticipates. He's filled the time up with drawing, focusing intently on the paper and every little detail he can get down. His abilities are a little rusty after six month, and his wrist already hurts like hell after being bound by handcuffs and overworked to hell and back, but the art comes naturally to him and he gets in an almost soothing trance as he draws.

Eventually, Sylvia comes back downstairs, when the house smells like fresh and almost-ready food. A couple nature shows have gone by at this point, and Deanna and Lily have gone off to do whatever else. Jesse admittedly wasn't focusing on what they'd been talking about or where they went. He's been fully entranced by making art until their teenage daughter sits herself beside Jesse.

"Are you a fan of the desert, or something?"

Jesse turns from the weird, half-curled up position he's been drawing in for well over an hour. He hands the paper to Sylvia so she can get a better look at the drawing. It's a sketch of the desert, with that familiar mountain range just outside of Albuquerque. Some of the lines are quite shaky and disordered, like his hand trembled at times while working. There are swirly, detailed clouds in the sky colored with orange, sunset colored pencil hues, and birds – a flock of birds – swarming the sky. There's a cow skull sitting in the foreground of the picture, amongst the sand.

"It's where I'm from," Jesse replies softly, after a moment. "New Mexico."

"That's cool," Sylvia says, holding the art in her hands and examining it with intrigue. "I like how you colored the clouds. The skull is a good touch, too."

The praise brings a small, almost bashful smile to Jesse's lips. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," replies Sylvia. "We've been to New Mexico before, my parents and I. I liked it a lot out there, with how dry it is. Makes me think of Black Mesa."

Jesse squints at the name, finding it oddly familiar. It was from something, something he played a long time ago. "What, like that one old video game?"

Sylvia nods quickly, seeming excited that Jesse understands her reference. "Yeah, Half-Life. You play video games?"

"Haven't heard that one in a while," Jesse almost laughs, already caught up in the nostalgia. "Yeah, I play video games. It's been a second, though. I've been living in a hole for the better part of the year."

He's not joking, though he plays it off like he is.

"Well, it's a good thing you crawled out."

Jess scoffs. "Yeah." That's the truth of his situation. "I don't think I missed the third game in that series, did I?"

"Haven't missed a thing," Sylvia says.

Jesse's quiet for a moment, looking over at the piece he's drawn. "I was more of a _Sonic_ kid growing up. Shit, I still am."

"Gotta go fast," Sylvia said with a little smile.

Oh, this kid was already winning Jesse's heart over. Not in a weird way, of course, but she reminded Jesse just a little bit of his brother. A little less under the influence of uptight, strict parents, though.

"Your moms seem pretty cool," Jesse comments, on that thought. "Are you happy here?"

One could easily see the smile on Sylvia’s face growing. "Totally. I love my moms. You got cool parents?"

Jesse makes a face at that, shrugging. "They kicked me out in highschool when I was around your age. So, guess it kinda depends on what you mean by _cool_."

"Assholes, huh?" Sylvia looked over to Jesse before she returned her focus on the drawing. "Sorry they kicked you out. That must've sucked."

 _Jesus_ , Jesse's teen years simultaneously feel like they were centuries ago, but also mere days ago. Fidgeting with his fingers, he considered Sylvia's words. They were  surprisingly compassionate words, really. Even so, there’s some nostalgia when Jesse replies. "Yeah, they are assholes. I kinda miss them, though, if that even makes any sense."

"It makes sense," Sylvia says. "Have you not seen them in a while?"

Jesse frowns at the question, not even sure how long it's been. "Yeah, it's probably been like a year or so. They're not really a part of my life anymore. Last I saw 'em was when I bought my house back from them. Y'know, because they kicked me out of that, too."

"They must have some really strong legs from kicking their son out of so many damn places." It's joking in tone. For a moment, Sylvia pauses, before adding more sincerely. "I'm sorry, dude."

Jesse smiles just a little bit, just faintly. "Thanks, kid."

 

* * *

 

The family all sits together when dinner is finally ready. By the time it's ready, the whole house is permeated by the intoxicating smell of home made lasagna. Jesse's practically drooling by the time Deanna pokes her head out of the kitchen and beckons him in. He helps set the table and soon after, everyone's gathered to eat.

The food is delicious. It tastes like the best thing he's ever eaten. Maybe it even _is_ , honestly. The only issue is that he has no idea what to say while sitting here.

"Jesse, is the food all right for you?" Lily asks him after Jesse's been quiet for a while. She's surely noticed.

"It's amazing," Jesse says softly. "Thank you. It's, uh… it's been a long time since I had something homemade."

The best he had in the compound was the occasion when he did a good job cooking and 'earned' something that was human-grade, but it never reached this level of love and care. On a good day, Todd gave him ice cream or fast food, or maybe something pre-packaged. Good days were extremely rare.

"Oh, it's no problem," Deanna tells him, smiling at Jesse. "We really needed an excuse to finally make that lasagna, anyways. You being our guest is a great prompt for that."

Jesse smiles back, and he hopes he doesn't look too awkward or out of place doing so. Part of him can't help but wonder if he's intruding on this family altogether, but the rest of him really appreciates being here. Even family dinners with his parents were always so much more judgmental and had harsh rules to go along with them.

When dinner is over, he helps clean up as much as he can. Jesse knows that he doesn't have to, that he's not an _indentured servan_ t, but he wants to be helpful, and some habits are hard to break.

There ends up being a lot of leftover lasagna. Deanna tells him that he can go into the fridge and get leftovers anytime he wants, and shows him where the cupboards for plates and silverware are. Jesse wonders how long ' _anytime_ ' is going to last.

After dinner, Lily does as promised and leads Jesse off to the guest bedroom, so that they may talk about the horrors plaguing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe. half-life reference


	3. Open Window

Jesse stares down at his hands. He's never been particularly good at keeping them still, even when he isn’t anxious. Of course,  _ when _ anxious, especially as he is now, his hands are positively  _ itching _ to do something. He wishes he would've brought up that paper that they gave him so he could draw while he talked. Then again, he might just end up crying onto the paper in that scenario, anyways, and that would just be a waste of paper.

After guiding him into the bedroom, Lily left momentarily and reassured Jesse she’d be back soon. Well, she wasn’t wrong about that, as she’s now returning to the guest bedroom. She's got a glass of water that she sets on the nightstand. "Here you go. Just in case you get thirsty."

Jesse wonders if she knows how much these simple acts of kindness that her and her family are providing are affecting him. He wonders what she knows about  _ him _ , about the kind of agony he's withstood.

"Thanks," Jesse replies, softly. He sits upon the bed, maybe about a foot from the night stand. Reaching forward, he takes a sip before setting the water back down. His hands resume their pattern of fidgeting. "So, what do you want to know? Last time someone wanted to really, uh, ' _ talk _ ' with me, they weren't being all that friendly."

Lily pulls up a chair to sit by Jesse. She looks concerned upon hearing his words. "They weren't?"

Jesse rubs at his nose with the back of his hand. "I mean, I guess it depends on what you think  _ friendly _ is, but, uh, they basically broke my ribs and half my face, so…" He trails off, like he's just talking about an everyday occurrence, like this isn't one of the most traumatic things that happened to him. Like he wasn't left crying for hours, for days, in complete agony, with the memory of Jane's death haunting him more than ever.

"I'm so sorry," Lily whispers, clearly affected by Jesse's words. "That must've been awful. Can I… can I ask who you're talking about?"

Jesse falls silent, his heart rate picking up and his breath growing heavier. He trembles slightly as he turns to look out of the window. The sun is falling deeper into the sky, leaving gold remnants of the daylight casting upon the world. It's beautiful out there. “Do you think we could open the window?”

It’s deflection, or whatever it’s called, yeah, but Jesse’s not quite ready yet. Fortunately, Lily doesn’t seem all that bothered by the idea of humoring him. “Sure,” she replies, standing up and moving to the window beside the bed, opening it up. Cool, fresh evening air wafts into the room. The feeling of it seems to renew Jesse in some way, but he still fails to answer Lily’s question, instead asking his own.

"What day is today?"

Lily pauses briefly for a moment before she sits back down and answers, "September eighth."

"September eighth…" Jesse trails off, slowly nodding his head. That's one day after Walter White's birthday. That means it's officially been two years since it all started. That son of a bitch. Of course he'd decide to  _ die _ on his birthday, one last shot to make it all about himself.

Jesse looks to Lily once again. "Your wife said you're a…  _ like _ , a psychologist or something. Is that true?"

"That's true," Lily replies, meeting Jesse's gaze. “Have you ever been to therapy before?”

"I went to, uh… meetings a while back. First it was some group, like, grief counseling thing, when my Aunt died. Then I later went to NA meetings." Jesse watches his hands, never any less unsteady. "Do you get,  _ uh _ … shit, what’s it called? Like,  _ confidentiality _ with all that, with your job?"

"I do," answers Lily. "For my patients, everything they tell me is confidential. I can't tell anybody what they say without their explicit permission, unless my patients plan to hurt someone else or themselves."

"Okay," Jesse replies, nodding his head. He fishes into his pocket, retrieving the remaining money he has from Todd's car. "Can I… be your patient, just for tonight?"

Lily's brows furrow and she's quiet for a moment, and Jesse worries he's crossed some kind of line — until she speaks again, that is. "Of course, Jesse. You can keep your money, though, okay? You need it, honey."

Jesse shakes his head, holding out the money to her. "No, please, just… just take it, please." It's  _ blood money _ all the same. He'd rather die empty-handed than keep anything else of Todd's. "Please. I don't want it." He's desperate.

Lily reaches forward and takes the money from Jesse's hand. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure." Jesse's never been more sure. He pulls his legs up onto the bed with him, sits in a curled-up position. "Mrs. Lily," he starts.

"You can just call me Lily,” she reminds him.

"Okay, uh… Lily." It’s a force of habit to call women that, perhaps. In any case, he’s got a question to answer, belated as it is. He starts again, frowning. "Lily, I was… I was a kept as a prisoner."

"Jesus," Lily whispers, but she corrects herself, trying to seem more professional, "I'm sorry. Go on."

How can he go on? Telling her everything doesn't seem like the best move ever. Yet, a little venting can't hurt, can it? Jesse would be terribly wrong to say that he doesn’t want to talk about certain things he’s been through. Keeping it all inside has been terribly lonely.

"It was a fucking Skinhead…" He cuts himself off, his throat thick with that sickeningly painful urge to cry. He continues in spite of it, reiterating. "A white supremacist gang, you know? Like, Nazis. They… they held me there, in this… in this pit in the ground, in a cage." He sniffles, tears already streaming down his face. Evidently, his attempt not to cry has failed.

The sight of this prompts Lily to get up, stepping across the room to grab a box of tissues and hand them to Jesse. She looks incredibly concerned. Jesse grabs a tissue, waving a thankful hand at her before wiping at his tears.

"They're dead now," Jesse clarifies, his voice low and congested already. "But, God… the things they did to me — the things they did to people I love, I mean, they're not the kind of things you can go back from." A sob wracks his body, shaking the bed beneath him. 

Lily appears horrified by Jesse's words, though she keeps her resolve. "Are they the ones who gave you those scars?"

"Yeah." Jesse runs a hand over his face, tears spilling onto Deanna's clothes that she lent him. "They are. They did a lot of things to me."

Looking over Jesse's wounds, Lily appears to be examining him. "Has everything healed properly?"

That catches Jesse off guard, for some reason. "I don't … I don't know."

"There's antibiotic ointment in the bathroom, in the cabinet behind the mirror. Do you mind if I go get it for you?"

Ordinarily, Jesse would refuse the offer on account of caution, out of fear of being touched. Yet, he also wants so badly to get help. This woman gives off such nurturing vibes, and Jesse can't help but open himself up to her kindness. "Go ahead."

Lily gets up and heads to the bathroom. As she moves around and gathers things, Jesse listens to the movement. He blows his nose, takes a sip of water. After everything, even after his rest, he still feels so insanely exhausted. Closing his eyes, he uncurls himself from his position, sitting up just a little more properly. Talking about this isn't going to be easy in any way.

Lily has a few things in hand when she comes back. Of course, there is the tube of antibiotic ointment, but she also has some bandages and an antiseptic spray. "Do you mind if I sit by you?" she asks as she walks back in.

To that, Jesse shakes his head, gesturing to the bed that he's sitting upon. "It's your house, you can sit wherever you wanna, right?"

"I just want to make sure that you're comfortable with it. Your boundaries are important," Lily explains as she takes a seat beside him on the bed. "May I… Oh, can I take a look at your wrists, dear?"

Rather compliantly, Jesse holds out his hand to Lily. Upon his face is an expression quite worried, quite uneasy. "They're pretty bad, huh?" His hands, too, are calloused with swollen joints from so much work on the daily; it's more than possible that the past six months have permanently damaged his hands in some way. Hell, he’s probably got arthritis all over his body or something.

Lily's hands, however, are soft and gentle against his forearm. As she grabs the antibiotic ointment, Jesse watches her with dreaded anticipation, for there are still some instinctive fears lingering from his trauma, fears that she may use this closeness to intentionally hurt him.

He bites into his scarred lip at the feeling of her rubbing the ointment onto his wrist. It doesn't hurt as much as he expected it to, but Jesse still feels nervous and self-conscious, and overall, he still hasn't fully stopped crying.

"I imagine you feel really hurt after everything you've gone through," Lily says to Jesse as she spreads the medicine onto his wrist.

Well, fuck trying not to cry. The mere acknowledgement of his pain gets a sob out of Jesse and he nods, using the already-damp tissue to wipe at his face. It's kind of gross, but he can't be bothered to care. "Yeah. It really hurts. You wanna — you wanna know what's fucked up?" When Lily nods her own head, Jesse continues. "The whole reason I was there is because… 'cause I trusted some  _ asshole _ who put me there. He hired those guys to kill me, but instead one of the dudes, this dead-eyed piece of shit Todd, he…"

His words are cut off by another sob that sends his whole body shuddering. Lily places a hand on his back, and he leans into the touch so desperately, like she's all Jesse has in this cruel world. He's not sure if this is how therapists are supposed to work professionally, but whatever this woman is doing, he wishes it could last forever, that he could always have someone there for him.

She wraps up his wrist with a bandage after retracting her hand. It's not too tight, though; maybe Lily can figure that having things tightly around his wrists makes Jesse nervous.

"This Todd, what did he do?"

Jesse’s posture visibly deflated at the question, managing to look Lily in the eyes with the greatest amount of grief and heartache. "Everything." He wants to tell her about Drew Sharp by name, to precede this all, but there's still that fear of getting caught that stops him. So, he painfully tries to limit what he says to just what directly happened to him, to his own imprisonment. He elaborates in a cracking, unsteady voice. "He didn't want to kill me, so he dragged me off to this… place. I don't know, it was like a prison, with barbed wire all, but it was their own place, like a private property or something."

As he speaks, Jesse holds his other arm out for Lily. He winces when she begins applying more ointment, and she notices, giving him an apologetic look.

"Am I hurting you?"

Jesse sniffles, waving his free hand dismissively. "I've had worse."

That answer doesn't seem to particularly comfort Lily, but she accepts it nevertheless, giving Jesse's hand a small squeeze that sends a fluttering feeling into his chest. "Can you tell me about this place that you were... held prisoner in?"

Jesse nods, even though he's quite hesitant to think back on everything. Doing so is never fun, but maybe it's best to talk about it when it's so fresh. If he closes his eyes, it's the first thing he sees in his mind. "Like I said before, there was this… this pit that they kept me in. It was, like, all concrete and maybe seven feet deep. There were bars on the top, and it was locked so I couldn't get out."

The memories are all too vivid. Faintly whirring machinery and the sickening stench of his own bodily fluids come to mind. Jesse has been subjected to so much degradation, it feels unreal to think that he somehow survived it all for half a year.

"They kept me in handcuffs the whole time. They switched me to a… it was like a dog run, or whatever, when they wanted me to work for them, though." Jesse feels himself trembling as he continues.

Soon, Lily finishes wrapping up his other wrist. "What did they make you do?"

Oh, there's a question Jesse can't be so open about. Quickly, his mind works to bullshit something. "Lots of… labor. Physical stuff. I was, like, always on my feet, and when I wasn't, I was sleeping in a hole."

He looks down at his newly bandaged wrists, and he thinks about how much better they look like this, injuries covered and out of high sight. It's better not to look for too long at  _ their _ dirty work.

"How… how long did you say this was?" Lily sounds hesitant when she asks the question, like she's almost too afraid to ask it at all.

Jesse's words sound hollow, his voice low and audibly congested from crying. "Six months."

Meeting Lily's gaze properly for the first time in a while, Jesse sees that there are tears in her own eyes. "I'm sorry," she says, reaching for a tissue and wiping away the tears. "It's… it's really difficult for me to maintain a professional attitude right now. I just…" She trails off, shaking her head. "That's horrific. I can only imagine how awful you must feel after surviving that."

What's really fucking wild here is that Jesse is absolutely certain that nobody else has ever done this before — cried over his suffering. Perhaps he's really just been the  _ only one _ crying. To see another person so upset because of what happened to him is shocking in itself, and Jesse appears taken aback momentarily. "Yeah, I…" He can barely get out a response, covering his mouth with his hand and suppressing yet another cry. "I don't… I don't know what to do with myself anymore. Something's wrong with me."

By now, his body has begun shaking in its entirety. He feels Lily put her hand on his back once again. She's probably broken professional behavior by this point, but to Jesse, it doesn't even matter. He doesn't know or care how those things work. All he knows is that he's desperate for comfort, and before he knows what he's doing, he ends up leaning against the woman sitting beside him.

Soon enough, she's holding him close to her and he's wrapping his arms around her as he cries so,  _ so hard _ . Jesse can't even believe she's not pushing him away or telling him off for being too emotional, too wounded, but she doesn’t push him away.

She just lets him cry.

"It's alright if you don't know what to do, dear. I'm not sure many people would," Lily tells him as she holds him, rubbing gentle circles into his back. "You're safe now. Everything you've gone through is over. Those people that hurt you — they're gone."

Clinging to the fabric of Lily's shirt, Jesse is the spitting image of distressed. This is reminiscent of the time that he used meth and the rest of the heroin in a heartbroken state after losing Jane, a dangerous cocktail of chemicals leaving him vulnerable enough to hold onto Walter whilst crying uncontrollably. Only now, he's not even high; he's just in a world of pain and he can no longer contain the emotions that flood him over this level of kindness.

Jesse tries to reply between sobs, but it's a while before he can properly say much. Eventually, he gets out, "You're being so nice to me." When was the last time anyone's heard the truth about his pain and comforted him over it? Like, genuinely comforted him, not some hidden-motive manipulative shit? Anyone who's ever been so genuinely decent towards him is dead. "I don't even know what to say."

"That's okay, too. Just let it out, dear. I'm right here."

Jesse manages to pull away from his clingy embrace, but he only does so out of need to grab another tissue, because he can barely fucking breathe at this point. "You probably think I'm crazy, crying all over you like this."

"Not at all." Lily is quick to shake her head. "It's quite all right. I'm a mother, you know. I've been cried on more times than I can count." She gives Jesse a supportive pat on his back, and for once he doesn't even flinch at it. "You'll have to forgive me, I don't normally get this physically close to patients professionally I just…" 

Trailing off, Lily plays with her hands for a moment, a nervous tic that Jesse's plenty familiar with. "I'm just very moved, I suppose. You seem like such a gentle soul. I can't imagine anyone wanting to hurt you."

Jesse casts his gaze downward, frowning. "I've done some bad things, yo. I've hurt people and I can't go back from it. I don't think I'm all that good of a guy."

He can picture Walter in his head, can practically hear his words echoing:  _ 'You're nothing.' _

"Do you think that makes what happened to you acceptable?" Lily asks, and the question prompts Jesse to turn to her, nervous and uncertain.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Lily seems to struggle with her words, pursing her lips together thoughtfully. "Do you think it's okay that you were abused for so many months, because of what you may have done in the past?"

Jesse's not sure how to reply. His posture deflates and he shrugs his shoulders, replying with a gravelly, low voice, "I don't know. I… I mean, I wouldn't wish it on anybody else, but maybe I deserved it. Maybe I did it to myself."

Jack Welker said something along the lines of that, right before Andrea was murdered. Something along the lines of ' _ this is on you _ ' or ' _ you did thi _ s'. It's hard to remember the exact words when Jesse was screaming and thrashing, bound in the backseat of a van at the time.

Maybe Jesse  _ did _ deserve it.

Yet, Lily apparently doesn't want to accept that answer. "Didn't you say that someone you trusted put you in there? Wouldn't that person be the one responsible, more than you?"

Jesse hesitates to respond. "I mean, yeah, I guess. Mister…" He starts to say  _ his _ name, but then cuts himself off. "My old business partner. We used to work together, but he did something way worse than me, and I got upset and tried to stop him, so he let those fucking  _ Nazis _ take me away because of that."

Lily's brows furrow. "What did he do?"

"He poisoned a kid." Oh, here come the tears again. "My… my ex girlfriend had an eight year old son, and the, uh, guy I used to work with just — he  _ poisoned _ him, on purpose. Like, just as a  _ move _ , 'cause he didn't want me getting close to anybody, and I guess he just wanted to rip my heart out."

Clearly, this horrifies Lily – a natural reaction, Jesse would hope, to such a horrific deed. "Oh, my God. That poor kid." She shakes her head. "Is… Is he safe now, the boy?"

"He made it, thankfully." Jesse runs a hand along his scarred, dampened cheek. "Only 'cause I told the doctors he might've been poisoned, and I ended up being right. I just… I had a gut feeling." 

He's not sure if Brock is currently safe  _ now _ . After what happened to his mother, well… that was one thing Jesse couldn't stop thinking about while in that cage.

He still thinks about Brock, now that he's out. He wonders if the kid’s okay, if he ever will be okay.

"I'm glad he's safe," says Lily. "You did a good thing by telling someone. Your instincts were right."

"Yeah," Jesse agrees with her praise for once. "I'd do anything to protect a kid. I wouldn't even think twice about it."

"I understand that," says Lily. "Children are everything. How a person treats a child really reflects on how they treat everyone else in the world."

Jesse nods, sniffling and reaching for another tissue to blow his nose. "You got a point," he replies after doing so. When he blinks, his eyes feel raw and sore from all of the tears shed. This isn't the first, nor will it be the last time he cries over everything. "You know, the guy was a real hypocrite, 'cause he claimed to be this  _ family man _ . He always used his whole family thing against me, because  _ he _ was the father and I wasn't. Like I didn't know shit about caring for kids. Then, he turns around and poisons the kid that means the whole world to me. Just because he can."

There's a clear grimace on Lily's face at Jesse's words. She runs a hand through her hair, looking upwards and breathing in a sigh. "Do you have any idea of where he is now?" she asks.

"Dead," Jesse answers plainly. "Maybe he's burning in hell."

Or, maybe Walter White's own version of hell is more like him watching his own money burn. That was, after all, what really mattered to him.

"I don't want to speak ill of the dead, but… I think it may be for the best that he's no longer with us, that partner of yours. He can't do any more damage."

"Nah, you're totally right, though. Best thing the bastard did for me is die, I'm pretty sure."

Oh, Jesse's glad that Lily can agree with him on that. She doesn't even know the entirety of his story, but she's still on his side. It feels nice, to have someone backing him on this shit, someone who sees it all as fucked up. God knows, spending time with Walter made Jesse feel crazy and stupid for being upset over things like that.

"How did you meet this business partner of yours?" Lily asks.

Jesse hesitates for a moment, not entirely certain that he should say foo much. Yet, Lily  _ did _ say that she wouldn't tell anyone else about this, didn't she? Maybe vague details would be fine. It's not like he has to talk about  _ meth _ .

"He was my teacher in high school."

A reaction of horror is clear on Lily's face. "My goodness." It's like her face has been going on a journey as she reacts to everything Jesse tells her. It puts into perspective just how absolutely fucked up his life has been, when shared with a third party who hasn't been involved at all.

"Yeah, he just decided to completely destroy my life a couple years ago. Like, pretty much on the dot, he came to me two years ago, and he just…" Jesse makes an explosion kind of gesture with his hands. "Boom."

Explaining it in simple words is the easiest for Jesse. Not that he's ever had the most expansive vocabulary to begin with, but it's hard anyways to explain the complexity of it all. After all, Jesse spent so long admiring Mr. White for his talents and intelligence, yet at the same time, he's held great disdain for the man since the very beginning. Nobody else ever held that specific kind of power over Jesse. One moment, he felt like they were  _ true blue _ fifty-fifty partners, and the next Walter was calling him stupid, pathetic, an imbecile, a junkie — or, a combination of all of those particular insults at once. Yet, the guy could so easily turn around and front like a wholesome father figure without a moment of hesitation. The dissonance was nauseating.

It still is.

Jesse runs a hand over his face, and having momentarily forgotten himself, he cringes at the texture of his scars. He remembers Hank Schrader saying something about how Walter really did a number on him. For someone who beat Jesse to near death in the past, Hank was right about  _ that _ one thing for sure.

"Have you spoken about this to anyone at all?" Lily asks, pulling Jesse out of his thoughts and shifting his attention to her. “I know you said you went to NA meetings and the likes, but have you talked to anybody else?”

He shakes his head, looking downward. "I haven't been able to. I haven't,  _ uh _ , had anyone to talk to about it."

Lily tips her head toward Jesse, making it into his line of sight. "You do now."

Hesitantly, he nods. "Yeah. What are the odds I end up here?" It's still better than what he deserves, he thinks. Yet, all the same, he's so glad to just be out of imprisonment and inside a kinder place, even if it's just for one night. Perhaps this single day of kindness will benefit him in some way moving onward, wherever he'll end up.

Then again, he doesn't know where he'll end up after he leaves, or how long he'll make it. There isn't much left for him in the world after this. Jesse avoids thinking too hard about the creeping sense of finality in his subconscious.

It's gotten quite late now, but Jesse doesn't feel all that tired. In fact, the nervous fidgeting of his hands has picked up as he grows incredibly self-aware and lucid about this entire conversation, the whole of his interaction with Lily.

"Hey, uh… can I ask you something?" Jesse focuses on her with intent, though there's a bit of subconscious caution that manifests itself upon his face. It's a leftover, instinctive fear of being bit for his curiosity, for his interest in being less than obedient. "Like, something personal?"

"Of course," Lily replies, a hint of concern showing upon her face. "What would you like to ask?"

"Why are you doing this? I mean, both you and your wife are so nice, an, like, don't get me wrong, I'm grateful and all, but… Why are you helping me?"

The question gives Lily pause, it would seem, for she's quiet as she appears to contemplate Jesse's question. Yet, she responds to it not with annoyance or anger, but with a sad smile. "Well, I can't speak for Deanna. I'm afraid you'll have to ask her yourself if you want to know  _ her _ reasons why she brought you here, but — me personally? I just believe in helping people out." For a moment, she pauses before adding, "I trusted my wife's judgment when she told me about bringing you over, and I still do."

"What, do you just… do that? Open your heart and house for hurting strangers? What, is that, like, a  _ lesbian _ thing?" Jesse's question is a little absurd, but he really has no way to process the kindness.

Fortunately, Lily doesn't seem to take much offense to it and even laughs a little. "Not that I know of. I just want to be a good person. I take it you're not used to these types of interaction, though."

Jesse furrows his brows, looking down at his bandaged wrists. "Nah. I don't really know that many lesbians, or good moms." A pause, and he thinks about it for a moment before adding, "Or good people in general, if I’m being totally real right now."

Most of the people he's been connected to for two years are dead. It's a really depressing thought, and even thinking about it gets him craving the  _ crystal _ again, to his own disgust. He'd hoped that being forced to cook meth for half a year would've turned him off from the idea, but it seems that his addiction runs deeper than that.

To push those thoughts away, Jesse speaks more, his voice lowered to a hesitant murmur. "I just don't get what you get out of this. I'm not that great or special of a person. I'm just some guy who's been through a lot of shit." He flexes his fingers as he speaks, watches the muscles on his wrist subtly shift beneath the bandages.

"I don’t think you’re nearly as awful as you think you are, Jesse. I can't instantly make you believe that you deserve help, nor can I fix your problems instantly," Lily tells him, "but I can give you the tools to cope with this, if you'll let me. I can help you recover, but you have to be willing to."

Jesse turns back to Lily, and he's suddenly desperate to assure her of how he feels about this. "I am willing, Lily. I  _ want _ to get better. I don't… I don't wanna stay like this forever."

Lily smiles, gentle but perhaps, in a subtle kind of way, sad. "You can get better. Wanting to recover is an important step to take in itself."

"I guess I'm just not used to having any kind of support," Jesse admits, fidgeting with his fingers. "Nobody's ever really believed in me all that much." He's always been stupid, incapable, or a junkie in others' eyes. Honestly, even his own parents never had this much faith in him, so one may understand why he’s surprised now by this positive attention.

"I believe in you," Lily tells him, and Jesse feels something stir in his heart.

 

* * *

 

In the night that follows, Jesse barely gets any sleep. He manages to doze off, but he awakens after a short while and finds himself staring into the dark bedroom, sleepless and filled with unpleasant memories that have resurfaced in his nightmares. He keeps trying to fall asleep again but every time he does, he sees Todd approaching him in his dreams and it jerks him back awake again. It leaves him staring at the alarm clock, the illuminated numbers letting him know that it's two-thirty AM.

There's a fine layer of sweat accumulating on his brow and Jesse feels unclean, unpleasant. So, he gets out of bed and stumbles through the dark hallway over to the bathroom. Might as well take advantage of having access to sanitation while he has the option to. There's a night light in there, and it lights the room dimly so that when he looks in the mirror, he sees a hauntingly eerie reflection of himself. It's like he's the fucking  _ ghost of Christmas future _ , or something. He avoids making eye contact with himself and runs cool water over his face, effectively waking himself up even more than he already was.

With that renewed, anxious energy. Jesse returns to the bedroom at flips the light switch, bringing a brightness to the room that makes him squint for a solid minute before his eyes adjust. There really isn't much for him to do here, and it's not really his business, but he decides to snoop around a little bit for the sake of passing time. There's a shelf in the room covered in assorted personal knick-knacks that's just a little bit dirty.

On that shelf is a framed photo that Jesse picks up, examining it. He wipes some dust off with the back of his hand and gets a better look at it; it's a photo of a younger Deanna with her arm around the shoulder a man somewhat shorter than herself. She looks happy, and for a moment Jesse wonders if the man with her is an ex boyfriend of sorts before ruling out the possibility. She doesn't seem like the type to be with guys, and the dude next to her looks way too much like her  _ not _ to be a family member.

Interestingly enough, they look to be about Jesse's age in the photo.

Jesse sets the photograph back into its place before looking over the rest of the shelf. There's a snow globe, its water a bit yellowed by time that says,  _ 'Greetings from Oregon!' _ and a good amount of books as well as a couple of photo albums.

He picks up one of the albums and brings it back to the bed with him. He knows it's not his business. It really isn't, but he's bored and sleepless and quite frankly curious about the people housing him.

The album opens with a soft crackling noise and Jesse's met with an assortment of old photos. There are some of Deanna and Lily together, youthful and presumably prior to having their daughter. As he leafs through the pages, he sees photos of a very pregnant Lily, and soon to follow he finds a good few baby pictures of Sylvia. In a handful of photos, the man in the framed photo is present. Maybe he's Deanna's sibling, or perhaps a cousin. He’s obviously too young to be her dad.

There's really nothing to suggest anyone in this household is a bad or dangerous person. Nothing is creepy or out of sorts; it’s all just a safe, normal home, as far as he Jesse can tell. Though, he feels kind of guilty about looking through the album after a while. He gently closes it and sets it back onto the shelf beside the other albums.

Jesse finds an actual book on the shelf, one on bird watching.

To be totally honest, he never really read all that much, never really cared to read in high school or even afterward. It's never too late to start, though, right?

So, Jesse reads up on bird watching and the local birds that live in Colorado state, as well as birds from other parts of the country that fly through. The fresh air comes in through the window and keeps the room cool, and Jesse allows himself to relax, if only for a little while. The book keeps him distracted from his thoughts for the night until he eventually falls back to sleep.

He dreams of flying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO YO YO I just wanted to say thank you all for the kind words in your reviews. Much like Jesse Pinkman, I also thrive on positive affirmations, so you can be absolutely sure that your comments have given me plenty of motivation to keep going! Thank you for reading this!!!


	4. News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooh, i've been leading up to this chapter pretty eagerly....  
> trigger warning for talk about addiction + overdose

The morning brings fresh sunlight and the permeating smell of bacon and eggs wafting into the guest room. It makes Jesse's stomach grumble and his mouth water, as if it’s the first time he’s ever smelled such fresh and enticing food. Waking up in the morning and getting out of bed feels almost foreign to him; it's a world away from shambling off the concrete floor in chains and climbing a ladder up to a meth lab. It carries with it not the smell of putrid body fluids and precursor chemicals, but of fresh breakfast. Waking up to people who won't beat him or call him a rat feels so new and undiscovered.

It's different, for sure.

When he makes it down the stairs, he's greeted by Deanna in the kitchen, who's making breakfast. "Good morning." She smiles in that relaxed kind of way she does, waving Jesse over. "I'm making breakfast. There's coffee in the pot. Go ahead and help yourself to some if you want any."

"Thanks, yo," replies Jesse, walking slowly into the kitchen as his bones and muscles get acclimated to movement. "Smells good in here."

"You're hella right about that."

Deanna seems to be in good spirits. Jesse can't help but wonder why, and similarly wonder where her family is. "Where's, um…" he begins, almost shy about approaching the subject of her family, "Where's everybody else at?"

"My two favorite ladies are off to work and school. I work from home, though, so I'm here all day."

"Cool. Working from home's gotta be nice." Jesse ambles over to the coffee maker before hesitating at the lack of mugs visible.

"It's got its perks." It would seem that Deanna has some sort of sixth sense, as she notices the confusion and clarifies, "Mugs are over in the cupboard to the right."

"Oh, thanks." Jesse opens up the cabinet to find an assortment of tacky, mismatched mugs. There's a lot of character in one small place alone, and ultimately he opts for a forest green mug with a print of a deer pattern on it. It kind of reminds him of Alaska, for some reason, and how he wanted to go there.

He pours the steaming hot coffee into the mug, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up at the mere smell of it. Things like this had always been rare in the compound, and he'd really grown to miss the smell and taste of coffee.

Plus, admittedly he misses _any_ kind of stimulant, even legal and mild ones like coffee.

Jesse sits down at the table with his coffee, hands wrapped around the whole mug. The heat soothes the aching joints in his hands and brings him a fragment of much needed comfort.

"Hope you've got room for breakfast," Deanna says, tipping her head toward Jesse. It looks like she's _really_ hoping that he'll say yes. Who is he to decline breakfast when he _is_ , in fact, hungry?

Jesse smiles, a bit sheepishly. "I definitely do. Breakfast sounds... _awesome_."

"Good, man, because I’m making a whole lot and I can't eat it all by myself." Deanna grins, flipping a piece of sizzling bacon as she does so. "Can't have my guest going hungry."

"You're really, like," Jesse begins, trying to find the right phrase to describe Deanna’s treatment, " _hospitable_." Emphasis on the _big word._

"Well, I try to be," she replies, "Thank you. It's nice to have a guest around to try to impress."

So, Deanna's the type to want to _impress_. That's something that Jesse can relate to. Admittedly, he’s not all that hard to impress, considering the nightmarish conditions he’s used to living in. "It's totally working," Jesse lets her know, taking a sip of his coffee. It's bitter, but fresh and invigorating all the same. "You get a lot of guests?"

Readying a plate, Deanna shrugs. "When the in-laws visit or Sylvie has a friend over, but otherwise not that often."

"Are _in-laws_ a good thing?" Jesse always kind of liked the idea of having them; it was like getting a second family; sort of a chance to start over, given how accepting his own family wasn't. "You close with yours?"

"Oh, they're a good thing. We are close. It's my own parents I worry about." In spite of how smoothly she speaks, one can pick up a note of irritation in Deanna's voice as soon as she mentions her parents. It doesn't last as she continues, though. "How much bacon can you eat?"

"Whatever you want to give me, I'll eat," Jesse replies. He feels strange and imposing to ask for anything, so he leaves it at that ambiguous answer.

Deanna eyes Jesse up and down. "I think you can eat a _lot_." She pushes a hefty plate full of bacon and eggs toward Jesse. "Don't feel pressured to eat it all, though, if you’re not able to."

Is this a _last meal?_ One final serving before Jesse must return to a life of roaming the streets in search of scraps? It kind of feels like it is, but he's not going to open his mouth and say a single ungrateful word while he’s here. The last thing he wants to do is offend Deanna. Not that he thinks she'll do anything to hurt him if he does, but the fear of it lingers within him.

So, instead, he says, "Holy shit, that looks good," as he gets a closer look at the breakfast, because it really _does_ look good. This woman has a talent for cooking things like a _mom_ , and Jesse can’t help but feel at home at this table. He immediately begins eating. "This is amazing, Deanna."

"Oh, good," Deanna says, joining him at the table with her own food soon after. She sits across from Jesse, beginning to eat. "Don't want you to be hungry."

"That's cool of you." Jesse replies, looking out the window. Today's a sunny day, and the sky is filled with fluffy white clouds that don't look ready to rain. At least that’ll make travel easier, he hopes. Setting that thought aside for a moment, he continues. "It's been a real long time since I sat down and ate breakfast with somebody." The last time was probably with Andrea.

"I think it's a nice way to spend the morning," Deanna replies.

"It's pretty nice," Jesse says. He's quiet for a moment, eating his breakfast as he puts off the inevitable question. The time he has here is limited and fleeting, and he almost doesn't want to bring it up. Yet, he simultaneously does _not_ want to overstay his welcome here. 

It’s not until after he eats that he asks that very question. His plate is empty and he remains where he sits. "So, when do you…" He starts, fingers anxiously fidgeting and eyes fixated on his hands, "What's a good time?"

Deanna looks from the remnants of her breakfast. "What's that?"

"I mean, when do you want me out of here?"

She furrows her eyebrows, playing idly with her fork and tapping it against a small piece of scrambled egg. "There's no rush. When do you want to leave?"

Jesse's posture deflates. "Oh, _man_ , you can't ask me that, or else I might stay too long." He laughs nervously. "Whenever you want me to go, I guess."

Deanna shrugs her shoulders, picking up her finished plate. "There's no rush. Spend the afternoon here, if you want to. I got your clothes all washed for whenever you're ready, but you don't have to hurry out of here unless you want to go."

Todd's clothes. Not that Deanna has any way of knowing the absolutely traumatic weight those clothes bear, but Jesse still feels his stomach twist in a knot at the reminder of them. "Yeah, thanks," is all he can say, quickly pushing past that topic as he stands, taking his plate to the dishwasher. "I'm happy to stay for the afternoon, if you want. If you, like, need any help around the house, I can totally lend a hand."

"That's real generous of you to offer. It's all good for now, though. You wanna relax a little, watch some TV or something?" Deanna gestures toward the living room. It’s a relief to know she doesn’t want to put him to work.

Jesse nods, following her in as she moves to the couch. He sits a seat away from her and she passes the remote over to him.

"Put something you like on."

"Thanks, yo. I will."

Having a choice is nice, after all. Jesse turns the television on; the first thing playing is a commercial, so he flips over to the next channel. It's sports. He's never really been a sports guy — next channel it is. He keeps flipping through the channels, going through various different programs until he accidentally hits a news station and the sight of a familiar face turns his blood cold.

 _"—Reports say that Walter White, also known as Heisenberg, died of a self-inflicted gunshot to the torso,"_ says a reporter on the news. An old photo of the very man’s face on the screen stares smugly at Jesse from across the room, as if he's reminding him that he'll never escape.

Slouching forward, Jesse is unable to peel his gaze away from the screen. It’s some kind of report on the Heisenberg case, which has apparently gone onto national television.

The sound of his heartbeat floods his hearing and his mouth runs dry, the world around him blurring. Deanna says something to him, but she sounds distant and unintelligible as the television goes on about _Walter White, father of two, who ran a multi-million dollar drug empire after being diagnosed with terminal cancer_. Walter White, school teacher who used his position of authority over Jesse to absolutely destroy his life and turn everything to shit.

Then, the screen changes to Jesse's own face; younger, a mugshot of course, with no visible scars or damage.

_"Jesse Pinkman, White's former highschool student suspected of working with him, is still missing."_

There it is, the final nail in the coffin. It's as if Walter himself has come back from the dead to hurt Jesse in one final way, just when one might've thought Jesse to be already broken. Being dead apparently wasn’t enough to stop the bastard.

All air has left Jesse’s lungs and he feels like he's on the verge of collapse. He can feel the presence of another person stirring beside him.

Deanna sits up, eyeing him in a manner in which he cannot read. Cautious perhaps would be the closest match to describe her disposition. "Jesse..." She begins, slowly.

He manages one look at her before taking off and running straight for the door. From behind him, he can hear Deanna calling his name, calling for him to wait, but Jesse doesn't stop running, through the front door and out into this completely unfamiliar neighborhood. Bare-footed and empty handed, wearing clothes that don't even belong to him, he flees.

It's over; it's all over, every bit of progress made after his escape is gone. Deanna knows who Jesse is, by name, and there's not a doubt in his mind that she's already called the police on him. His life has just ended, and all he can do now is run.

Where can he possibly end up from here? There's still nowhere to go, but the fear of being caught and made into another Nazi's piece of meat in prison keeps the adrenaline flowing through him. _God_ , he can't go through it again, and he can't possibly go back to Deanna and her family now that she knows who he is.

There's nothing left for him.

Jesse keeps running until he can't anymore, as eventually, he has to stop to catch his breath. It's not all that far, but he's nearly out of the neighborhood. By now, he's covered in sweat and his whole body has become enveloped in violent tremors. Bile rises in his throat and he cannot keep it back; he staggers off to somebody's shrubbery near the sidewalk and pukes out the breakfast he just had. There goes his only meal for the day.

Everything hurts. His body isn’t used to running, and his throat is now burning from stomach acid, and he’s just lost the only people who were ever kind to him.

Jesse hears a car coming up the street, and he snaps his head around to see that it's Deanna's. Of course, he hoofs it, in spite of the fact that he just threw up his main source of energy. He's gotta get away. 

"Jesse!" Deanna calls out to him as she catches up with him, window rolled down, slowing the car down to a crawl that matches his pace. "Wait! Don't go."

Looking practically feral, Jesse turns to her with widened eyes and mouth agape. "I have to go," he tells her between ragged wheezing. "I can't – I can't be here anymore."

"No, that's not true. You can be here. Please, just hold on a second."

Walking is getting awfully difficult, since his body hasn't healed from everything. Reluctantly, Jesse slows down to a halt, soon speaking between labored breaths. "Why?" His voice audibly cracks. "What do you want from me?"

Deanna sounds desperate in a tone Jesse’s never heard from her before. "I don't want you to leave me _again_."

 _Again?_ That's not the kind of wording Jesse expects to hear. He looks to her with a confused expression, wordless as he continues to catch his breath. She appears visibly embarrassed, as if the words escaped her on accident.

"Oh, Christ." Deanna has stopped her car by now and is visibly distraught, running a hand down her face and avoiding Jesse's gaze for a few long moments. When she does make eye contact, it feels like a forced thing, like the act itself is painful. "Look, Jesse — I'm not gonna _make_ you do anything. Leave, if you want to. I won't call the police, but – if you come back with me, I'll explain everything."

Jesse's expression softens. "Okay." Surprisingly, it’s not hard to get him to comply; that’s been molded into his personality quite significantly. He nods, taking a few wavering steps toward the vehicle. "This isn't a trap, is it? You're not gonna, like… drive me to the police station or whatever?"

"No," Deanna says glumly, shaking her head. "I swear on my life, kid, that's not gonna happen."

Being called _kid_ again really does something to Jesse's emotions. He gets into the car, climbing into it with a bit of trouble, sitting in the passenger seat with his hands on his lap, head cast downward. "I'm sorry." There's a long pause in between his words. "I think I threw up a little on your clothes."

Deanna laughs quietly, tiredly shaking her head. "It's a good thing the shirt's black," she tells him as she drives back home.

 

* * *

 

Jesse graciously accepts the offer to borrow more clean clothing from Deanna. She lets him clean himself up before he meets her back in the living room. She's sitting there on the couch, holding a photo album like the one Jesse looked through last night — in fact, it might even be the same one.

"Hey," she greets him. Something has shifted in her demeanor, her posture more deflated and that friendly, slightly snarky air to her almost withered sway. She looks sad, and Jesse wonders if it's because of him. That would make sense, if it _is_ because of him, because he's like poison to people.

"Hey," Jesse greets in return, sitting beside her. "So, what's…" He's having trouble starting. "What's the deal? I mean, why do you want me around still? _You_ … you know who I am now."

Deanna simply shrugs, looking down at the album in her lap and then at some indistinguishable point in the room. "Yeah. I've, uh… I've known since we met."

Jesse's eyes widen. "What?" The word escapes him a bit louder than he intends, demanding and shocked. "You knew this whole time, and, what, you didn't think to say something?" His body is shaking again and he feels that sick feeling returning. "You didn't think to, I don't know, point it out?"

"Well, I'm saying it now, aren't I?" Deanna retorts, though her words aren't aggressive. They fall short, and she's quiet, this time being the one to fail to make eye contact. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want to scare you away."

"You've — you've just been holding a criminal in your house knowingly, then?" Jesse can't wrap his head around why Deanna would want to. It doesn't make sense to him, and it honestly terrifies him that she could use this information against him. "Yo, hey — Mrs. Deanna, I don't _get_ it. Is there, like, something you want from me? Something you wanna _use_ me for?"

“Use you?” Deanna appears disturbed, almost offended by the implication. “What? _No_.” Directing a bewildered glance to Jesse, she shakes her head, sigh, and opens up the album. Her fingers flip through the pages slowly. "I had a brother," she murmurs, her finger landing on one of the pictures Jesse looked at before. "His name was Dave."

Jesse's brow furrows, and he looks at the photograph. It’s the same guy he noticed last night. Silently, he directs a look at the woman — something in between apprehensive and sympathetic, while still _questioning_. Silently asking, What happened?

"I lost him," Deanna elaborates, shoulders drooping. She places a palm on her face, gritting her teeth. "God, he was so fucking young. He couldn't have been much older than you."

"Jesus," Jesse whispers. "Deanna, I'm so sorry. How'd he…?"

"Overdose." Deanna finishes Jesse's question with a quick, unhesitating answer. "It wasn't _fair_. It still isn't. He was such a sweet guy, and he…" She swallows thickly, appearing to be on the verge of tears. "He left us all too early."

"Oh, shit." Jesse looks away from the photo, feeling tears well up in his own eyes. This is bringing up some painful memories of Jane, and they’re flooding in too quickly to stop him from an emotional reaction. "What was – what was he on?"

"A combination of things," Deanna tells him, flipping to the next page of photographs. "Doctors say it was meth and heroin that did it. A speedball.”

Oh, _no_. This really is all too familiar.

Deanna continues. “It started off so simple, you know? Our parents were assholes to both of us growing up, and he dealt with it by drinking and smoking through highschool, and — I mean, I did too, because it was what we did. We never learned how to healthily cope with our shit."

Jesse nods understandingly, empathetic, encouraging her to continue.

"I met Lily not long after highschool, and I guess knowing her prompted me to get my shit together. I cut things out the best I could, even though being an alcoholic makes that all insanely difficult." Deanna flips through another page, onto more old pictures. Her fingers hover hesitantly over the photos, glossy from the plastic protecting them. "Dave, on the other hand… he got worse. He'd come to family gatherings with long sleeves in the middle of July, he lost too much weight, he'd act differently from how he ever used to. Our parents were already snubbing me because they couldn't handle their only daughter being a lesbian, but with Dave — it's like he was _dead_ to them."

"They did that to their own kid?" Jesse sounds heartbroken, and he feels that way as well. It's all too familiar, this story Deanna's telling, and he wants to cry at the mere triggering thought of it all. Yet, somehow, he's holding it in. "Why do parents do this kinda thing? Are all parents of addicts just... _like that?_ "

Deanna shrugs, shaking her head with dismay. "I have no idea. When I finally figured out what was going on, Lily and I had moved in together, and Dave was pretty much out on the streets, so I asked him to move in with us. Things got better after that. He was happier, and we were a family again."

"You saved him," Jesse observes.

"I thought so. I mean, he kept using, though, and I didn't know what the fuck to _do_. Lily was working on getting her degree and we were trying to work out this plan to help wean him off of everything, but even then, I didn't know how the hell to handle things. Every time I'd try to talk to Dave about his addiction, he'd get so upset, and I felt like an asshole for even bothering. So, I just did all I knew how to do. I just kept loving him and being there for him, keeping the door open for him."

"That's not an easy situation," Jesse says softly, moving himself a little bit closer to Deanna. He wants to reach out and touch her shoulder, comfort in some way that he knows how to, but he’s afraid of violating boundaries. "You did more for him than a lotta people would, I think. I mean, I know what it's like to be pushed away by your own parents for bein' addicted. That shit really hurts."

Deanna nods. "I'm sure it does." She closes the photo album and lets out a shaky sigh. "I did the best I could, but it really wasn't enough. One day, we got into an argument, and I don't even remember what it was over, but the next day he was just — _gone_."

Jesse frowns, and he opens his mouth as if to say something, but the words don't come out. He's been rendered silent by the pain in Deanna's words, in her life. It feels way too familiar, like the two of them are somehow kindred souls who've gone down paths that took far too long to intersect. Yet, they've intersected anyhow, and Jesse has no idea what to make of it.

"I started following the Heisenberg case when the news came out about it," Deanna continues. "Not obsessively or anything, but I heard your name and it just stuck with me for some reason."

She lets out a bitter, low laugh as she sets the album down on the table, turning her gaze to the window.

"Maybe it's selfish, but seeing you just reminded me so much of him, and of how he was just a _kid_ like you are. You looked like you needed help, and I just felt like I _needed_ to help, even though it was never my business to begin with." 

Jesse's quiet for a moment, his position a bit slouched, a worried look seemingly carved permanently into his face. "I needed the help," he whispers after a moment, looking down at his bandaged wrists. "I… I still kinda do, but I'm not gonna ask you to do that for me. It's not fair."

"No," Deanna quickly replies, and just as quickly, she takes his hands into her own in a fast gesture that nearly scares the shit out of him. She has renewed energy, desperate and almost manic. "No, it _is_ fair. Why don't you just – _shit_ , why don't you stay another night? Stay another week? You can— we can be like a family."

Jesse is taken aback, still rather quiet as he lets Deanna speak. His reply is disheartened, though. "I'd appreciate that, but — Deanna, you don't even _know_ me. I don't wanna disappoint you when I end up not being _him_."

Deanna tones that energy down a bit, her own posture faltering as tears well up in her eyes. "I know." She lets go of Jesse's hands, sitting back. "I know that. I just – I want to be a good person. I want to do something to help someone, otherwise I'm just – I'm just letting horrible things happen again."

It's a bold move, given how searing human contact feels sometimes, but Jesse reaches for Deanna's hand and takes a gentle hold of it. "You didn't let that happen, yo. I mean, it's horrible, but that kinda thing happens with this kinda life. It's not – it's not your fault."

He gives Deanna's hand a reassuring squeeze, hoping that his words may help in some way. When she doesn't say anything, her free hand covering her face, Jesse continues.

"I lost someone like that, too. I… I had a girlfriend, she was the first person I ever really _loved_ like that. I loved her more than anything in the world." Jesse closes his eyes, imagines her as he speaks. Long black hair, rosy lips, her dark sense of fashion and humor, and the way her lipstick stained her cigarettes; it all comes to mind so painfully. "She was in recovery, sober, and I dragged her out of that. I hurt her. She, y'know … she _relapsed_ , because of me, and she taught me how to shoot up."

At the memory, his arm seems to throb painfully, and more sickeningly, _hungrily_.

It's Jesse's turn for tears. "Anyways, she didn't make it. Someone I knew was there, and he didn't save her, and I was passed out, so I couldn't—"

He suppresses a sob, using his own free hand to wipe away tears. "But, it happens, you know? Junkies end up like that. It could happen to anyone who uses, and you never know when. That's not your fault. It isn't on you."

Moving her hand away from her face, Deanna looks to Jesse. Her eyes are reddened like she's been suppressing the urge to cry for this whole conversation. "I'm so sorry you lost someone like that, too."

Jesse nods, taking his hand back to wipe tears from his cheek. "I'll never stop missing her." Or Andrea, for that matter, though that's a topic far too painful to speak of here and now. There are so many levels of trauma related to lost lovers, things that he can’t bring himself to delve into.

"Are you sure you really want me here, though? I'm not gonna get high anymore, but I don't wanna be some kinda bad reminder of everything for you." That’s one thing, being known as a wanted criminal is a whole other thing. It seems that Jesse could not escape his past, try as he might.

"No, it won't be like that," Deanna tells him, shaking her head, her words almost like a plea. "You don't have to stay here if you don't want to, but I want to help you. You've got a place to stay here, if you’ll stay."

Jesse's eyes — oh, they're watering quite apparently, a stirring feeling in his heart. He swallows thickly, a lump in his throat. "What about your family? I mean, when they find out — like, are they gonna want me here? Are they going to hate me?"

"I think it'll be fine. Lily likes you. I'll have a talk with Sylvia to make sure she's fine with it, but I don't see why she wouldn't be." As she speaks, Deanna's eyes fall upon the bandages on Jesse's wrists. Her grip on Jesse’s hand tightens just a little more. "You told me you don't have anywhere to go. This could be your place to go, if you want it to be."

Jesse blinks back more tears, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "I'll pay you back. I'll find some way to make myself useful. I – I can work for you, clean the house, or – or something. I'll help, too, I swear."

Deanna frowns, but it's not out of disapproval but more so a soft, empathetic and sad kind of expression. "Right now, you need to recover from whatever you've been through. I don't want you to hurt yourself trying to work too hard."

These kinds of words are foreign to Jesse. After only being valued for his meth-cooking abilities, his _usefulness_ , he feels as if working for other people is all he's good for. Actually being valued and not treated like a slave is a seemingly impossible concept to grasp. He's not even sure how to respond at first, eyes cast downward, reply hesitant. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Deanna replies. Suddenly, without any apparent prompt, she wraps her arms around Jesse and pulls him into a warm hug. "It'll be okay. Things won't be like this forever."

It's hard to understand just what she means by that, but Jesse nevertheless melts into her embrace, leaning heavily against the woman. He's like a dog getting pet in just the right spot, soaking up the innocent, platonic contact that he's been so deeply deprived of. Finally, he’s got someone here who gives a shit about his well being, and it feels _genuine_ too. 

He wants the good part of this to last forever.


	5. Rat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for violence against animals.

It was in the middle of the night when Jesse couldn't sleep that he encountered the creature. Beady black eyes stared back at him, nose twitching, tiny little hand-like paws held close together. At first, he thought the creature to be some kind of hallucination, for he'd been called a _rat_ so many times now, and with the doubts he had about his own sanity, he may as well have hallucinated one. Yet, when he sat up in his flat, shitty excuse for a bed, the little rodent's ears twitched up in a manner so realistic that Jesse's mind surely couldn't create such intricate little details.

Jesse stared at the rat.

The rat stared back at Jesse.

Jesse's posture slumped over slightly, curling over onto himself. His breathing was a hollow, uneven sound from ribs that had failed to heal properly after Todd's round of breaking them a while back. "Hey, little guy, how'd you get in here?" he asked the critter, voice raspy.

It must've climbed in, at some point. The rat twitched its nose at Jesse, sniffing in his general direction. It stood on its hind legs for a moment, getting another whiff of his scent, before landing onto its front paws again and scurrying just a little bit closer. He could feel his heart pounding as the animal approached him, as this was the first in an awfully long time that another living being interacted with him in a nonviolent way. Whether the quickening heartbeat was something born of excitement or dread, he wasn't entirely sure, but something within him prompted him to slouch over even more, as much as his ribs would allow it, to get a closer look at the creature in the dim night light.

As far as he could tell, it appeared brown with bits of fur missing from its body, probably a fairly average sized rat if Jesse knew anything about the size of them. As often as people called him by the animal's name, he really hadn't interacted with them much. The most education he'd gotten was on the movie, _Ratatouille_ , but if real life told him anything, this creature probably wasn't looking to teach him how to cook something amazing when all he had here was a mattress and a bucket of his own shit.

Still, he was _so fucking lonely_ that having the company of a wild animal that could potentially carry a disease was better than anything else in the world. Jesse was, against all reason or logic a healthy person might have, drawn to this creature out of a desperate need to connect. Reaching forward, he held his hand out to the creature as it moved closer to him. His reach could only go so far before the chains around his wrist stopped him, and the noise of the rattling metal caused the rodent to stop in its tracks, frozen out of fear.

"Hey, it's okay, buddy," Jesse cooed softly, trying to coax the rat back to him, but before he could get a chance to finish speaking, it took off, scampering into the corner of his prison and scaling the concrete walls. Attempting to get up and desperately pursue the creature, Jesse whimpered hoarsely at the pain shooting through his body. "No, wait, don't go."

Before he could catch up, the rat was gone, poking through the tarp that laid on top of the bars above him. Jesse wished he could leave, too.

 

* * *

 

 

The next few days in Deanna and Lily’s home are hard to keep track of. Jesse's been quickly accepted into this family of would-be strangers. Though, as time goes by, he realizes that he's gradually getting a little closer to everyone. Lily goes to work almost every day, and Sylvia to school. Jesse hangs out with Deanna, mostly just watches the television or does small chores to help out. The rest of the time, he's just sleeping. He's not sure if it's a recovery thing, or a _depression_ thing, but all Jesse wants to do most of the time is sleep. Maybe that’s for the best, considering his body still hurts so, so much; he feels indescribably sore and lethargic.

At least nobody seems to mind that he’s resting so much.

 

* * *

 

 

The sound of footsteps walking towards Jesse's in-ground prison caused him to freeze, his blood running cold. He held his knees drawn up to his aching body, trembling at the mere sight of a shadow looming above. With a sudden movement, the tarp was drawn away and, in the evening light, Todd stood above.

"Oh, hey, Jesse," Todd said, in the benevolent kind of tone one might have when being roused from his work by human contact. Only he wasn't benevolent, and _he_ was the one who approached Jesse. His dead eyes stared down in a way that made Jesse's stomach form knots.

"Hey, Todd," Jesse rasped in response, actually having to force himself to sound even a little casual. His real feelings were nothing friendly or familiar, but were in fact a great deal of horror and disgust as they always were around Todd. After a while, though, he eventually learned that Todd _liked_ it when spoken to in a chill kind of manner. It made him less likely to lash out or inflict pain. "What's, uh… What's going on, man?"

In Todd's hands was a TV dinner; a real luxury compared to what Jesse was usually fed. On a bad day, he got nothing, or something disgusting. Average days were table scraps or sometimes dog food. When Jesse really put his _all_ into cooking well for Jack's gang, however, he got rewards like halfway decent, vaguely enjoyable junk food or desert.

"Thought I'd bring you something nice and hot tonight, seeing as you did such a good job with today's batch and all." Todd seemed proud, but not for any of the right reasons. It was as if he were emotionally patting himself on the back by giving Jesse some _almost palatable_ food as a reward. Todd set the tray into a bucket and, using a rope, lowered it down slowly into Jesse's personal hell of a pit.

Jesse, of course, slinked over to the bucket, reaching forth with shaky hands to take out the plastic tray. It was filled with the typical contents of a TV dinner — some instant mashed potatoes, chicken nuggets or something like them, some sad-looking broccoli and peas. It could pass for a wholesome, delicious dinner if everything were fresh. Though, it might as well have been that for Jesse, who began stuffing his face with the lukewarm meal like it was the only food he'd ever seen.

Todd watched down, crouched over the grate above like some kind of gargoyle on a rooftop. "Is it good?" He asked.

Jesse looked up to Todd, staring back at him. The food would've been better if _he_ weren't around; being near Todd always made Jesse feel like he'd lose his lunch (or dinner, in this case) due to the sheer amount of hatred Jesse felt toward him.

Yet, Jesse had been molded into something more subservient and hopeless than that, and as such, he chose to take the path of least resistance. "It's really good." He forced the gratitude out like he was spitting up his own esophagus. "Thank… thank you – uh, so much, Todd."

Todd seemed pleased enough by that answer, smiling in a manner that suggested he believed that forced show of gratitude. "Aw, you're welcome, Jesse." He stood up, and with no formalities spoken, walked away from Jesse's enclosure.

When he was sure that Todd was gone, Jesse pocketed some of the food for later.

 

* * *

 

 

On the fourth night in his new… home? — _Can Jesse even call this a home, or is it more like an extended place to stay until he inevitably crumbles under the Mariana's Trench level of pressure from his own trauma?_ — Well, anyways, on the fourth night here, he can't sleep. To elaborate on that, he wakes up drenched in sweat, tears pouring from his eyes like water from a leaky faucet, his heart beating so fast one could play it at a nightclub for its high BPM. He feels as if he's going to die, in one way or another, and not just from the nightmares of Todd and Jack tormenting the ever-loving _shit_ out of him.

No, there's something _more_ to this. When Jesse rolls off of his stomach (his preferred sleeping position) he feels a searing pain in his back. His first thought is that _this is all an illusion_ and that he's going to wake back up in the compound with fresh lashes on his back.

Yet, that thought quickly dissolves as he hears a knock on his door and a small voice from the other side. "Um, hello?"

It sounds like it could be Sylvia. Jesse plants his face into his palm, sighing shakily. He quickly makes use of the tissue box to wipe the excessive tears and sweat from his face before answering the door. "Hey. Sorry, did I wake you up?"

Sylvia, still wearing clothes that one would wear during the day, shook her head. "No, I was already awake. I just…"

She trailed off, fingers fiddling together shyly, like she was hesitating to simply get the words out.

"I heard you screaming. Dude, are you okay?"

The embarrassment hits Jesse immediately. He hadn't _realized_ that he'd be vocal during nightmares; nobody's ever really been around to tell him. Of course, he isn't okay, but he doesn't want to scare the kid by telling her the details of his horrific life. 

So, he settles for a hesitant nod. "Uh, yeah, I'm okay. Thanks. I'm really sorry if I scared you."

"No, no, it's cool." Sylvia is quick to shake her head. "I mean, I… I kinda get it. Nightmares suck." Her brows furrow and she looks to the guest room Jesse's been staying in. "You gonna try to get some sleep again?"

The question prompts as shaky sigh from Jesse, his right hand gripping at his left arm anxiously. "Uh, probably. I don't know if I can." He's been avoiding Sylvia's gaze for a moment, hesitant and awkward, but he finally looks to her to ask, "Why, uh — why do you ask?"

Sylvia shrugs. "I don't know. It's like two in the morning, and I normally stay up late anyways, and, like…" She rambles on, scratching her head. "I remember you talked about liking video games before, so I was thinking, if you can't sleep, I can set you up with some games."

Well, that isn't a response Jesse expected, but he's nevertheless curious. "Oh. Uh, yeah, that sounds cool." Gaming has always been one of his favorite distractions. He’d forgotten about that for a while. "What kinda games are we talking about?"

Sylvia gestures to the hallway, down toward the stairs. "This way, I'll show you."

 

* * *

 

 

Jesse started calling the rat Patches. He figured it was probably a girl rat, because it didn't have _junk_ like a dude would. Not that Jesse was an expert on determining the sex of rodents; he had probably been _high_ through whatever biology classes he may have taken back in highschool. Patches was a _good_ name for her, though, he thought, and it was better than solely thinking of her as the word _rat_ when it had so many negative connotations for Jesse.

The remnants of that dinner he held onto ended up just being some crumbs from breading and a particularly shriveled-looking piece of broccoli. He held onto it long after Todd was gone, and though his body protested from the pain he was in, he managed to move around enough to make a trail with the crumbs.

Patches soon followed that very trail, crawling right to him. She stared over at him as she nibbled on the last of the crumbs, lead practically into his hand with how close she was.

"Hey, Patches…" Jesse wiggled a finger at the rat, and she moved a few miniature steps over. "Come over here. It’s okay, I won’t hurt you."

When she caught sight of the broccoli in his hand, she picked up her pace and ran to it as if it were the finishing line in a race. Her little feet tickled Jesse's hand as she walked onto his fingers, picking up the food with her own little paws.

Jesse watched Patches with a strange kind of fascination. He'd never really contemplated that such a _small_ creature could remember him, but it seemed that this rodent was already becoming less afraid of his presence. He wanted to reach out with his other hand, but he was afraid to scare her off with his chains.

So, he just sat there and watched Patches, and Patches did the same for Jesse.

Two of the same kind, they seemed to be. Only, the actual rat had more freedom.

 

* * *

 

 

"So, you've never played a Wii, huh?"

" _No_." Jesse drew out the syllable. "Have I been _seriously_ missing out, or what?"

Sylvia hands the strange, remote-shaped controller over to Jesse. "Yes. You definitely _have_. We need to fix this, like, right now." She dashes over to a little bookshelf that holds a bunch of games for the Wii.

"Do, uh… do your moms know you're awake right now?" Jesse looks to her with a bit of worry in his eyes. It's not meant to be patronizing, but simply a genuine question out of concern for this kid's sleep schedule and _general wellbeing_.

"They don't mind that much, I don't think. Besides, staying up and playing video games isn't all that rebellious." Sylvia raises her eyebrows matter-of-factly. "I can function."

"Can't argue with that," Jesse replies, looking over the games. "So, what do you got? Like, as far as games go?"

Sylvia moves to the shelf and picks one out quite quick, with a speed that would suggest she already knows what she's got in mind. "You ever heard of _Animal Crossing?_ "

Jesse shakes his head just in time for Sylvia to hand the game's box over to him. The artwork decorating it is vivid and colorful, depicting happy looking people and little animals wearing clothes. If appearance alone speaks for it, it's not the sort of thing that he would have played on his own, even back when he had the time to play video games. It's kinda cute, though.

Maybe Brock would’ve liked it.

"What's it about?" Jesse flips over the box and looks over the description on the back, but he doesn't bother to read it. He'd rather hear Sylvia's description of it, since she's right here, anyways.

"It's a game where you move into this town full of animal neighbors. You get a house and a loan you can pay off, and you can make friends with the animal neighbors and stuff. You can go fishing, catch bugs, decorate your house… You know, _and so on_. You basically choose what to do. It's like real life, but way more calming and simple."

Jesse looked to Sylvia, curious. "So, it's like… life-simulating stuff, or whatever?" He'd been more of a fan of fast-paced things, games that really got his blood rushing, but maybe something _calming_ could be fun. Especially now, when his rest is plagued with nightmares and his mind already has plenty of things to naturally, uncomfortably raise his adrenaline.

"Yeah, pretty much."

Jesse hands the game box back to Sylvia and she opens it up, taking the disk and popping it into the console. It slides in easily, and soon enough, the Wii is on and loading up the game.

"So, how am I supposed to use these controllers?" Jesse asks, wiggling around the remote and the weird control stick connected to it.

"It's like… I don't know, one controller but split up into two. You'll get the hang of it."

Soon enough, the game is ready and on goes the startup screen, showing an animal peacefully walking around a cartoony forest.

Jesse gets into the game surprisingly fast.

 

* * *

 

 

It took a while before Patches let Jesse touch her. Being a wild animal, she was naturally skittish and distrustful toward humans. The first few times Jesse tried, she either flinched or scurried away, and he didn't want to try _too_ much and get bitten.

Eventually, though, she allowed Jesse to pet her, and his heart instantly melted when she let him stroke her soft, short fur. She eventually wasn't deterred by the sound of his chains, seemingly used to being around him.

In a place where Jesse was constantly chained and insulted, forced to work beyond his limits, Patches was the one living being he could count on. She was like a pet, and a friend. As someone who was treated like an animal, Jesse knew to treat a real-life animal _better_ than anyone around here treated him.

She began returning every few nights, but with increasing frequency. It would seem that Patches was quite intelligent and loyal; over the span of what was probably a couple weeks, she learned to come to Jesse when he called for her.

Jesse grew to enjoy watching the way she'd pick up food with her tiny little rodent paws, like miniature hands. She grew to enjoy being pet, leaning into Jesse's touch as he gently scratched between her rounded little ears.

It was nice, so no wonder it all ended up going horribly _wrong_.

Jesse was an _idiot_ to think otherwise, maybe. He was _stupid_ to think that nobody would ever find out about this pattern of feeding and interacting with an animal crawling into his cage. Yet, he still tried to keep it going as long as possible, even so.

One morning, Patches spent too much time visiting Jesse.

He was in the middle of feeding her some pieces of the _scraps_ he'd been fed last night. As he sat there – _not comfortable but the closest he could perhaps get to it while in captivity_ – playing with Patches, he heard footsteps coming closer from up above.

"Shit, shit, _shit—_ " Jesse whispered desperately, quickly scrambling to find a way to hide patches. He quickly settled on the bucket, which wasn't exactly clean but was at least empty. Hurriedly, he covered Patches with the upside-down bucket and leaned onto it. Breathing unsteadily, he could feel his heavy heartbeat practically consuming him as someone approached the tarp.

He couldn't help but wince as the tarp abruptly flew off, bringing the harsh New Mexico sun beating down directly through the bars up above.

"Todd?" Jesse's voice escaped him in a weak and small manner as his eyes adjusted to the blinding sunlight.

"Guess again, dumbass," Jack Welker replied from above, sending a chill down Jesse's spine. As much as he hated Todd, his uncle Jack was often much _worse_. If Jesse were an insect, Todd would be the empty-eyed child crouching over him and tearing off his wings out of sheer curiosity toward what would happen.

Jack, however? He was downright malicious, and to top that off, he was smart. Well, as smart as an _evil scumbag lowest-of-the-low Nazi_ could get.

Jesse stared up at him silently, fearfully clenching his jaw. There was nothing he could say to Jack without fear of backlash, and so he waited for the asshole standing above him to speak first.

Jack didn't take too kindly to the silence. "What's the matter, pussy? You suddenly forget how to talk to the guy who's graciously letting you stay here?"

Oh, so this was how Jack was going to play it? Jesse winced, forcing a response out of his mouth. "No, sir."

"That's what I thought," replied Jack. Suspiciously, he eyed Jesse, who was still leaning on the upside-down bucket. "What the hell are you doing down there, anyways? Playing with your own shit?"

Jesse couldn't help but make a disgusted face at that question. "No." Quickly, he considered an excuse, anything other than hiding a living creature from him. "I… I'm just more comfortable, uh, having something to lean on. It helps with my joint pain."

"Your _joint pain,_ huh?" Jack looked skeptical, his tone mocking. "What are you, a grandma?" He shook his head. "Come on, get the fuck out of there. Todd's busy today and I need you on that cook." Unlatching the door to Jesse's grate, he gracelessly dropped the latter in with a heavy _clank_ that was loud enough for Jesse to feel in his bones.

Struggling to get up, Jesse was still having difficulty moving with the chains binding him. He pushed himself off of the bucket, beginning to stagger towards the latter when the sound of metal scraping against cement turned both his attention – and Jack's as well – to the bucket.

Jesse's heart sunk deep, his body suddenly motionless.

"What the hell's that?"

With a small, panicked voice, Jesse shook his head. "I don't — I don't know."

"You really gonna try and play stupid with me, rat? I can see that moving. I ain't blind." Jack glared. Oh, if only he knew how ironic his own words were; though, things like irony didn't mean anything when Jesse was likely about to get some kind of punishment. "Pick it up."

Jesse's heart raced loud enough to feel his vision pulsating, adrenaline coursing through his veins. _God_ , he didn't want to do it, didn't want to know what would happen once Jack discovered what was beneath the bucket. Yet, he really had no choice but to comply. Lifting up the bucket, he gritted his teeth as Patches came scurrying out, running around his feet.

Jack let out a wheezy, disgusting laugh, slapping his knee in amusement. "Holy shit, would you look at that! The rat caught himself another rat. That's some crazy fucking irony. What were you planning on doing with that, you little freak?"

Looking down at Patches, Jesse could feel himself beginning to sweat rather profusely. "Nothing! I swear. I was just…" Oh, god, he couldn't think of anything to bullshit. He didn't even feel that secure lying to Jack; the bastard had an outstanding lie detector built in. Jesse's admission came out of hesitant, ragged breaths. "I was taking care of it."

"What, like a pet?" Jack squinted. "You're already my nephew's pet. We don't need anymore pets here. _Jesus_. How the fuck have you been takin' care of it, anyway? You been givin' it your food, like an ungrateful piece of shit?"

"No, no," Jesse whispered hoarsely, trembling at the sight of Jack moving to climb down the latter. "I'm not feeding it much, I just— I just wanted a friend."

Jack scoffed. "Maybe you _are_ just stupid," he said, dropping down into the pit and withdrawing a gun from a holster on his hip. "You shoulda got it through your thick head that you gave up having _friends_ the moment you put yourself in here." He stomped over toward the cornered Patches, his boot hovering over her fragile little body.

Jesse, at this point, was hysterical. "No, please!" He sobbed. "God, please don't do it! It's my fault, it's on me! Just let her go, I won't feed her again!"

" _Her_?" Jack turned to Jesse with disgust written all over his face. "You really are are attached to this fucking rat. Guess you really are loyal to your own kind." Looking down at Patches, Jack seemed to hesitate. He moved his foot back onto the ground, away from the rodent, and aimed the gun at Jesse. "No, I'm gonna make you do this _for_ me. I think that's a much better way to teach a lesson. Pick it up."

New horror grew within Jesse. "What?”

“You heard me, idiot. Pick up the rat.”

“I can't—" Jesse began to protest before Jack shoved the barrel of his pistol against his neck. "Please, _no_ , don't make me. I don't wanna do it. I can't do it."

"Oh, you're gonna _do_ it. You don't get a fucking choice. Pick it up."

It was impossible to hold back a sob. “Don’t make me do this. I don’t wanna hurt this animal.”

“You’re gonna kill that rat for me with your bare hands, or I’m gonna put a bullet through your skull and shoot another in that _Brock_ kid. How’s that sound?”

Jack cocked the pistol against Jesse’s throat. 

“I’m not gonna give you another chance. Pick up the fucking rat.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jesse wakes up with a startle. He was apparently laying up against the bottom of the couch, his head lolled against the plush cushions. The feeling of something small in his hand immediately brings a feeling of revolt to him and he jerks the game controller onto the carpeted floor.

Pleasant music filters in from the television. He must've fallen asleep while playing video games. It takes him another moment to realize that someone has left a blanket on him, probably Sylvia.

It's early morning. The sun's just barely peeking in through the thin curtains of the living room, the sky still a dreary deep blue. Everyone's probably still asleep.

He clutches the soft fabric of the blanket and cries quietly against it.

* * *

It must've been stupid, Jesse thought in passing, to cry this hard over an animal he'd known for a couple weeks at most. Any normal human being wouldn't have gotten so _attached_ as he did. Hell, he's not sure he ever would have in any normal circumstances, before being held captive.

Not that he'd ever be cruel to a rat back then, anyways. He'd probably have trapped it safely and let it out of the house, back when he lived on his own. Hell, Jesse was the kind of guy who felt legitimately _sad_ seeing people kill any living thing, so maybe it was well within his realm to be utterly fucking devastated.

Every time he closed his eyes, he could hear the crack of tiny bones and the sound of pained, squeaky screaming. It made him weep harder.

He never would have done it. Jesse wondered what would’ve happened if he'd resisted, if Jack would've gone through with actually shooting him. Maybe that would've been a better way to go, seeing as his life didn't mean much to him anymore, but he couldn’t risk letting _Brock_ get killed.

Eventually, Todd came out to check on him. He started down at Jesse, who was curled into a ball on the cement floor, sobbing all over himself. Todd, in his typical unaffected manner, spoke to him with false sympathy. "Hey there, Jesse. I heard you were feeling down."

Jesse didn't answer. Of course, that didn't discourage Todd at all.

"I know you're sad about your little friend, but it had to happen, Jesse. We can't have you getting distracted from work and wasting the food you need for energy."

"Just leave me alone," Jesse murmured, unable to wipe the excessive tears and snot away from his face in his current position.

"That's not a nice way to talk to somebody who wants to help," Todd replied. He opened the latch and soon after dropped the ladder down. Jesse didn't bother to look as the other man climbed down, approaching him. "I guess your nose is too stuffy from crying to smell your tasty dinner, huh?"

 _Dinner_. Jesse had absolutely no interest in eating right now. His stomach was too sick and he could barely breathe enough through his congestion to give half a shit. He still didn't bother to look at Todd. At least, not until Todd set the food onto the ground and forced Jesse to get up, grabbing him beneath his arms and lifting him like a rag doll.

Todd shoved Jesse against the wall a little too hard, enough so that Jesse's vision blackened for a split second. It was hard to tell whether or not it was malicious, because when Jesse's focus returned, the _Opie dead eyed piece of shit_ had a patronizing sort of smile on his face. Jesse stared back at him, far too exhausted to fight back or make any kind of argument.

"You're gonna like what I cooked for you, Jess. It's fresh. I know you like it when I make things fresh for you."

Pushing Jesse's shoulders against the wall to make sure he remained propped up there, Todd sat adjacent to him, pulling the plate onto his lap. He stabbed at the food with a fork and lifted it to Jesse's mouth, which hung slightly open in order to breathe. As soon as Jesse realized what he was doing, he closed his mouth right before Todd could put anything in there.

"I'm not hungry," Jesse answered through clenched teeth. It was a lie, of course, as he was essentially _always_ hungry, but he _really_ didn't have the appetite now.

"I want you to eat. I won't leave until you do," Todd told him, like he was a disappointed parent talking to a toddler who didn't want to eat his carrots. Ironically, the thought of Todd leaving was what got Jesse to open his mouth.

It was _meat_. It tasted fresh and warm, and with the actual cooking and flavoring added, it melted in his mouth. The first thing that came to mind was chicken, which Jesse hadn't eaten in so long. He swallowed the first bite easily, and then the second, and then the third.

"You like it?" Todd asked.

Jesse nodded his head reluctantly. "It's good, Todd." Somehow, he was actually honest about one thing, for once. He wasn't sure why they were suddenly feeding him fresh food, until…

_Oh, no._

As the thought hit him, Jesse's face suddenly went pale. "What is this?" He asked, his voice soft and cracking significantly.

"You should know what it is, Jesse. You caught it yourself."

 

* * *

 

This time, Jesse wakes up sprawled out on the floor in front of the couch. He must've dozed off again, or perhaps he cried himself to sleep; it's hard to tell, but it doesn't really matter all that much. There's something almost sickeningly familiar about waking up this way: on the floor.

Sitting up, Jesse grunts softly from the pain in his back. He sees Lily in the kitchen and registers the fragrance of coffee. She seems to notice him just as quickly.

"Good morning," she greets, a steaming mug in hand. "You okay there?"

Jesse looks down at himself. _No_ , he's not okay, he hasn't been okay in his entire life — but he can't say that out loud. He can't make this any more uncomfortable than it already is. "Yeah, I…" Oh, he can't even fake it. Shame sets in at a record speed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep on the floor like this."

"Why are you sorry?" Lily asks, tipping her head to one side with gentle curiosity. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm guessing Sylvie showed you the Wii, huh?" She smiles with that last sentence, understanding, and Jesse's infinitely grateful for the shift of subject.

He really doesn't want to think about how _easy_ it was for him to fall asleep on the floor. It shouldn't feel that natural. It's not even remotely normal.

"Yeah, it's – it's nice." A momentary distraction, a positive one. Though, the television is off now and Jesse realizes he's still on the floor. He winces. "I, uh, was having a lot of nightmares last night and having a distraction helped."

Lily's face is soft with gentle concern. "Oh, no. I'm so sorry, dear. Have those been occurring often for you?"

Reluctant but honest, Jesse nods. "Yeah." He finally pushes himself up and onto the couch, bringing the blanket with him. Like a child with a security blanket, he holds on tight out of desperation for comfort. "Almost every night. Lately it's worse, though, like I'm having flashbacks or going crazy over shit that — _stuff_ that's over."

Lily steps over to the couch, setting her mug of half-finished coffee onto the table before sitting herself down next to Jesse. Her outfit is formal, like she's dressed to go to work soon. "What have you been having nightmares about? Not that you have to tell me, but I don't mind listening."

Jesse takes another look at Lily. "I don't wanna be, like, a bother to you if you need to go to work soon, or whatever."

"I have the time before work. About an hour, if you'd like to tell me about it."

  
It turns out that's all the encouragement Jesse needs to tell her, and God, it hurts to talk about it, but it feels so _cathartic_ to no longer bear the burden of these memories alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, thanks again for reading this :')
> 
> the emphasis of this fanfic is recovery, but it's hard to show recovery without also showing pain. jesse's been through some shit he realllly needs to recover from. yikes. next chapter won't be quite as dark, and it should be up relatively soon provided i can keep writing at the pace i'm going!


	6. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thank you all so much for the reviews! Here's another chapter of this little fic. :') 
> 
> No promises, but I'm going to try to finish this fic up before El Camino comes out on October 11th. Maybe! We'll see. I have two more chapters in mind and there's no specific ending in sight, but I want to be able to finish this in post-felina, pre-movie fashion if possible.
> 
> Either way, thank you for reading this!!!! I've got another chapter that I plan to get out before the end of the month, so keep your eyes open for more!

It's been a week since Lily and Deanna took Jesse into their home. He's taking baby steps in this new life, relearning how to be free again. This family is filled with some of the nicest people he's met and it's a wonder they even want someone like him around. After all, he still feels beneath regular people, and he hates that he does, but sometimes it's really hard to turn off the part of his mind that _knows_ he belonged to Jack's gang.

Ever since telling Lily about the incident with the rat, Jesse's been talking to her each day. He tells her about his life, but only in fragmented bits and pieces because some of it is much too painful to speak of. It's heavy shit to hear about, probably, but it's even harder to talk about out loud.

Still, it feels nice to have someone who cares. Lily's even given him a few hugs, and maybe for some that's just basic natural affection, but for Jesse it feels like a missing piece added to a puzzle. The puzzle is, like, human contact or whatever. Something poetic like that.

He's beginning to feel sick, too, and he thinks the cuts on his body might be getting a little infected. They hurt, but he hasn't said anything about it to anyone.

Deanna seems to notice this. Jesse is in the middle of helping her chop up some carrots for a pot roast dinner one afternoon when she asks him about it, seemingly out of the blue.

"Jesse, are you okay?"

Setting the knife he was using onto the counter, Jesse turns to Deanna with a questioning look in his eyes, brow furrowed. "What – why do you ask?"

"I know you're going through a lot, and I just want to check up on you. You look kinda sad."

"Thanks," Jesse says. It's not a sarcastic comment on the description of how sad he looks; he's genuinely thankful that she’d care enough to check up on him. "I'm just — I've got a lot on my mind, is all."

And he's probably sick, but he feels bad about saying anything, so he doesn't. It’s hard enough feeling like a burden already. Still, he'll take the opportunity to talk, seeing as Deanna asked.

"You know, sometimes I feel like I'm me, but then I look in the mirror and I see this guy staring back at me." His hands twitch as he talks, looking between Deanna and the floor. "Like, _yo, who is he?_ I get that's supposed to be me, I guess, but I feel like I'm stuck inside this guy."

A pause.

"You know, not in a gay way—" _No, try again, Jesse._ "Not that gay is a bad thing, because you're awesome, and I can't be gay for myself _anyways_ , but… Shit, I guess I'm trying to say I feel trapped inside this body. I feel like it's not me."

Deanna has a deeply concentrated look on her face, and for a moment Jesse gets hit with a wave of anxiety over the possibility that he may have offended her with the _gay_ comment. She pushes her glasses up her nose and squints at him. "Maybe you _should_ be gay for yourself, though."

Jesse just stares, more confused now than he was moments ago. "What?"

Shaking her head, Deanna takes a step toward Jesse and puts a hand on his upper back, between his shoulder blades. "Not literally, but in a metaphorical kind of way, you know? You need to find some way to love yourself after all the shit you've been through. Or, at least find a way to get used to who you are for now."

Jesse feels pathetic. He picks the knife back up and chops another carrot in half. "I don't even know where to begin with that." He's _bad_ . He's a bad person. A good person wouldn't have killed Gale or let Andrea die. "Not to sound like a whiny little _bitch_ , but I never really liked myself all that much."

Deanna retracts her hand from Jesse's shoulder and he misses it right away. "Well, I don't know how obvious it is, but I struggle with those kinds of feelings, myself." She steps over to retrieve a bag of potatoes from the cupboard. "Of course, I married a very kind person, and I've found ways to deal with it better, but it's still hard sometimes. If there's one thing that always boosts my confidence, though, it's putting work into my art. Maybe something like that could help you, too. Sometimes, it's all about focusing on what makes you feel passionate, if that makes any sense."

That's a lot to process, but Jesse feels as if he's grasped what Deanna is trying to tell him. "You're saying I should, _what_ , make art?"

Deanna’s enthusiasm rather quickly. "Yeah!" For such an enthusiastic response, she grows awfully quiet as if she's still deciding what to say. Then, some sort of idea hits her. "Hey, you wanna take a break from the kitchen? There's something I wanna show you."

Jesse sets down the knife again, turning to face her, eyes meeting hers. "Yeah. What's up?"

"Come here," Deanna just says, taking hold of Jesse's hand. He's a bit startled from the contact, but he doesn't reject it as she leads him out of the kitchen and through the house. She guides him back to a room in the back that he's never seen before. It's filled with numerous paintings that line the wall all the way down to a tarp-colored floor. Many of them appear quite extravagant, similar to what one might see on a tattoo, but far too intricate for any smaller part of the body.

"Is this your art?" Jesse asks softly, turning his attention around to all of the paintings, looking from one to the next with great fascination. "Deanna, this is… this is beautiful. Your work is amazing."

Deanna smiles, almost bashful, though her words aren’t exactly that. "It's pretty great, I know." Letting out a little laugh, she lets go of Jesse's hand. "Thank you, though. I put a lot of love into my work."

Wandering over to one of the paintings, Jesse marvels at it. It's a tiger, climbing out of a pond filled with lily pads and glowing insects. The colors are vibrant but the forms realistic. It kind of resembles an acid trip, Jesse thinks, or maybe a more real-looking Lisa Frank drawing. Like that real vibrant art he's seen on kids' binders back at school.

"Lily pads," Jesse muses aloud. "Is this for your wife?"

Deanna squints playfully. "Yeah. Tiger lilies. Get it?"

Laughing dryly, Jesse scratches at the back of his neck. "Oh, I get it. It's really pretty. Is it finished?"

"Not quite, but I'm pretty close to being done with it. Don't tell her, though, okay? It's a birthday surprise."

 _Birthdays_ . Shit, Jesse has one of those coming up in a little over a week, he nearly forgot! He's going to set that information aside for now, though, because he needs to focus on _this_ conversation.

"When's her birthday?" Jesse asks instead of thinking about his own life.

"It's on the thirtieth this month. Pretty soon, huh?" Deanna raises her eyebrows.

"Oh, for sure. It's too bad I don't have any kinda gift for her."

"Well, that's okay. Your good manners are a gift enough." Turning away, Deanna walks over to a blank canvas. She picks it up, turning to face Jesse with it. "Anyways, I was thinking you could use a little creative outlet. Did you say you were interested in painting at all?"

Jesse raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "Uh, I don't remember if I said, but I'd love to."

Deanna appears pleased. "Awesome. I can set you up with some paints if you wanna get started now."

"Whoa, like _now_ now? That's a totally nice offer, but I have no idea what to paint."

"Paint from the heart. Hell, just scribble stuff or throw some splatters on it, if you want. If you don't like it, you can always just repaint it." Setting up the canvas onto an easel, Deanna walked over to retrieve a box of supplies. "You don't have to do it, but I know you said you were into art, and I want to support that while you're here with us. You should have something that makes you happy."

Jesse sniffles, not even realizing that he's been tearing up. Again. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand, clearing his throat and giving Deanna a cautious but grateful smile. "Yeah, right on. That would be really awesome."

"You want a chair?" asks Deanna, her voice gentle and almost even _maternal_ as she pulls up a chair in the middle of asking the question. "This one's pretty comfy, you know. It's my favorite."

Jesse laughs slightly, a short noise. "Please." He's been pretty agreeable over most things ever since Jack's compound. Maybe it was getting the shit beat out of him for saying no to things that got him to be like this. But to be fair, he _does_ actually want the chair anyways. He takes a seat, looking at the blank canvas before him. It’s so empty, so pristine. So many opportunities to paint things, and he doesn't have a single clue as to what he'll do.

"I still don't know what to paint," Jesse admits.

"Hmm. Okay." Deanna leans over in front of the canvas, staring it down intensely like she’s ready to get into a duel with it. "How about you try closing your eyes and painting the first thing you see?" She looks back to Jesse, eyebrows raised.

Jesse, again, complies with this too, closing his eyes. "Okay, I got 'em closed."

He sits there for a while, his mind inconveniently blank. It's like when someone asks him about his favorite movies and he immediately forgets all cinema known to man. Or when someone asks about his personality and he forgets how the hell to describe who he is.

"Yeah, I got nothing. You want me to do another gift for Lily?

" _No_ , this is for _you_. Keep those eyes closed," Deanna instructs. "Don't even try to think hard about it. Get past all the walls and borders of conscious thought and try to find what’s beyond it all."

"Wow, that's _deep_ , yo."

Deanna laughs gently. "Yeah, it's some real trippy shit, huh? But keep going. Try to relax."

"What if I'm not able to relax, like, _ever_? I mean, when I'm sober at least."

"Just let it come to you. I'll stop talking so you can focus."

Focus on _nothing_ . Sure, that sounds totally easy. Jesse had gotten quite good at focusing on nothing when he was in his cage. _Cage. Cages. Captivity_. Okay, shit, he's actually going somewhere now, but he doesn't want to paint the cage. It's far too soon for that.

What else is in the cage? He can see it all so clearly without even trying. There's his bucket — no way in hell he's painting that. That'd be like painting a toilet, and that would be _weird_ . Painting a bed would also be kinda weird. Maybe chains, or handcuffs, or — God. Maybe the thing he used to get out of those chains earlier on. _A paper clip._

Maybe the photo the paper clip was once attached to.

Maybe a person on that photo.

Jesse opens his eyes. "I know what I want to paint." He looks over to the box of supplies, and upon noticing where he’s looking, Deanna is quick to open it up for him.

"Yes! Sweet. Let me get the supplies out for you. I'm so glad you thought of something." Deanna immediately pulls out some paints for Jesse, a whole spectrum of colors. "You want some space so you can paint in peace and quiet?"

"You don't have to go. I mean, unless you need to go work on the food or whatever."

"Oh, yeah, I was cooking," Deanna muses aloud. "Tell you what, I'm gonna go get that pot roast all ready and then I'll be right back, okay?"

Jesse gives Deanna a thumbs up. "Sounds like a plan, yo."

He waits until he's alone to begin. Picking out an art pencil from the box, he makes a light sketch of a familiar face. This is going to be painful to create, considering the subject in mind, but he won't let himself risk forgetting her appearance. He won't forget the sound of her voice, the curl of her hair, the warmth of her body up against his — and certainly, he won't forget her face.

Not after what happened to her.

 

* * *

 

It would seem Jesse's lost himself in painting, like his mind has turned to static and all it can process is the art he's making. Each brush stroke is a memento, like a silent love song or a letter sent to an address that no longer exists. Each smear of paint onto the canvas is an apology, an _'I miss you',_ a visual representation of a desperate cry out to the empty sky above.

It gets hard to see between tears flooding his eyes. Jesse continues anyways.

 

* * *

 

"Oh, look at this, Brock! Jesse brought over a present for you."

Andrea's voice was like a song, like the perfect melody to Jesse's ears. He loved hearing the enthusiasm in her voice, and he adored seeing the excited look on Brock's face when he brought the kid gifts.

"This is for me? Really?" Brock grasped the gift in his little hands, looking as if he couldn't believe Jesse's generosity.

"Yeah, little man, it's for you," Jesse confirmed, his voice mixed with joyful laughter. "I know it's not your birthday or anything, but I saw it and thought of you. I think you're really gonna have fun. Go ahead and open it up!"

Quiet but nevertheless eager, Brock began unwrapping the gift. Jesse looked to Andrea just in time to see the most _beautiful_ smile on her features, so gorgeous he swore he could fall in love all over again at that very moment.

"A new Gameboy!" Brock cheered gleefully. He barely even opened the box before running over to wrap his arms around Jesse in a genuine, delighted hug. "Jesse, you're the best!"

Jesse hugged the kid with all the love in his heart, holding him close. " _You're_ the best, dude. I hope it's a lotta fun. You gotta show me how it looks compared to the old one okay? The new screen's supposed to be real good and stuff. Got all those brighter colors."

"I will! I can't wait to play it!"

It certainly kept Brock busy for the rest of the evening. Later on, as Jesse and Andrea snuggled close together on the futon, Jesse found comfort in holding her close to him.

Affectionately brushing a hand on Jesse's cheek, Andrea leaned in for a sweet kiss on the lips. "You're so good with him, you know. You really make me feel like he's in good hands, babe. I'm so lucky to have you."

"Hey, I'm the lucky one," Jesse replied, kissing Andrea right back. "You're just -- god, you’re so incredible. I just wanna give you and Brock the best life you can have."

"You're doing a very good job with it," Andrea told him, and he instantly fell deeper in love with her.

 

* * *

 

"Jesse, that looks incredible," Deanna tells him from the doorframe. Jesse doesn't know how long it's been since he started painting, nor how long Deanna's been watching her, but he offers a meek smile in response.

"Thanks," is his modest reply. "I haven't painted in a long time, so I'm glad it looks good."

"Who is she?" Deanna asks, the question seemingly inevitable.

It's a painful thing to talk about, given the last time Jesse saw Andrea, but he'll answer anyways. Vague, but honest.

"Someone I loved," Jesse answers glumly, setting down the paint brush to look at her face. "Her name was Andrea."

"She's beautiful," Deanna tells Jesse.

His whole body is shaking, but he nods slowly in agreement. "Yeah, she is."

 

* * *

 

"Jesus, kid, you're really burning up."

Jesse can hear the concern in Deanna's voice as she takes a beeping thermometer out of his mouth, leaving between chattering teeth. He never really liked the feeling of having those things in his mouth.

"I'm sorry," Jesse weakly responds. He looks small and feels smaller, curled up in the guest bed with blankets draping his unstable, shivering form. Deanna puts a hand on his shoulder and frowns.

"Don't be sorry, okay? You didn't do anything wrong, it's just — where did this fever even _come_ from? Why didn't you say anything about it before?"

He shoves his face into the pillow and whines pathetically. The response that follows is muffled enough for Deanna to have to crane her head toward Jesse to hear him.

"I didn't want you to get pissed off and — and kick me out once you knew." 

Deanna's touch on his shoulder becomes more firm, but not in a violent manner; she’s just being supportive. "It's okay. That's not gonna happen. Let's just take care of this before you get any worse, okay?"

"Okay," Jesse replies, clinging tightly to his pillow. "I think it's under my shirt, like on my chest and back. It hurts the most there." He hasn't wanted to show anyone here his body ever since arriving; the amount of shame he feels is palpable. It’s one thing to be emotionally open about who he is, and another to reach the level of vulnerability to show a body he wants so badly to hide.  


"Can I help you clean those off?" Deanna asks, and Jesse weakly nods because he has no other choice.

"Promise me you won't hate me when you see what it looks like," he practically begs. Sitting up, he begins to tug at the hem of his shirt (which isn't even his own shirt) very slowly, not quite taking it off.

"I promise I won't," Deanna says, and her confidence seems so absolutely certain.

It would seem that nothing could prepare her, however, for the appalling sight of what the Neo-Nazis carved into Jesse's body.

"Jesse..."

She's horrified. Jesse swallows back bile in her throat. He can already assume what Deanna thinks; Jack and his gang were sure to carve their ownership into Jesse in every single way — including physically.

"I know what it looks like," Jesse practically whimpers. "I didn't… I didn't choose this. I don't want it on my body. I swear."

Deanna genuinely looks like she's going to be sick, covering her mouth and staring wide-eyed at the hate symbol carved into Jesse. It's as if they branded him, like cattle, on his lower back right above his hip. The symbol peaks out above the hem of his pants, angry and red and very, very fucking infection.

"Were you…" Deanna whispered, leaving her sentence unfinished.

This is too much for Jesse, too much shame. Frantically, he shakes his head. "I'm not a goddamn Nazi, I swear. They — they did this to me. I never would… I'd never put this on my body. They did it to punish me, I swear."

Tears drip down his face, tone reminiscent of the way he once spoke during torture sessions. It would seem that he's back there, mentally. Deanna must hate him now, she must think him a vile man to have _Nazi symbolism_ carved into him among all the other infected cuts and abrasions. Jesse wouldn't even blame her if she wanted to toss him out on the streets right this moment.

Her silence speaks volumes.

"Deanna, please. _Please_. You gotta believe me. This isn't me. I didn't want any of this." Jesse grabs Deanna's arm like a pleading child. He can feel the wound burning, like it’s been freshly cut into him all over again. His vision blurs, heartbeat practically drowning out all other sound.

Finally, she moves, taking hold of Jesse's hand and sharing her head. "No, no. It's okay, I wasn't assuming you were. It's okay, Jesse. It's just — _god_ , who did this to you?"

"A gang of skinheads," Jesse weakly confesses, tears flowing from his eyes. His posture deflates, hand limp against Deanna’s grasp. "They held me as a prisoner for six months."

"Fuck. Oh, my god. Jesse —" Deanna appears to be in shock at all of this, but she manages to steel herself, giving Jesse a pat on the hand. "Okay, look. I'm gonna – I'm gonna get some supplies, some stuff to clean you up, and I'll order you an antibiotic. You following me?"

Jesse nods reluctantly. "Yeah." His voice is barely audible, breaking. "That sounds good. Thank you." It’s for the best, he knows, but this is all so fucking exhausting and he just wishes he could disappear, if only for a little while, in the face of this shame.

"Don't even worry about thanking me, all right? It's okay, honey. I'll take care of you." Giving Jesse's hand a squeeze, Deanna looks him in the eye while she speaks. "From now on, though, I need you to be more open about stuff like this, okay? I don't want you to put your life in danger because you're trying too hard to be polite. Whatever’s going on, I just want you to be alive. I promise I won’t judge."

"Okay," Jesse replies, even though it's against his nature now to behave otherwise. It's like polar opposites in this house, compared to Jack's compound. Everyone's _nice_ to him and he has no idea how to deal with it. Being practically _hardwired_ to be subservient and neglectful of his own needs is pretty hard to unlearn.

It's reluctantly that Deanna lets go of Jesse's hand, and for a moment he just sits there on the bed in the same exact place he was, watching as she leaves. His whole body feels like it's melting and he just wants to collapse again, but again, he doesn't want to be a bad guest and get oozing wounds all over these nice bedsheets.

Fortunately, Deanna returns quickly anyways.

"We kinda lucked out," she tells Jesse as she spreads a towel over the bed for him. "I mean, maybe _luck_ isn't the best word ever, but Lily had some left over antibiotics in the fridge from a few months ago. You can take these for now and we’ll see if they bring down the fever."

Deanna hands a bottle over to Jesse along with some fresh water. He examines the bottle to confirm that they are, in fact, antibiotics before he unscrews the cap, swallowing a pill down. It goes down easy; he’s quite accustomed to pill-taking, after all. Years of childhood ADHD meds ensured _that_.

"I'm gonna get a clean shirt for you, too, but not until I'm done cleaning up those wounds. You ready?"

"Yeah, yeah — totally." Jesse sets down the pill bottle and water before he readjusts himself on the towel, laying on his stomach. Is he _truly_ ready, sitting here in sick, shameful, shirtless agony? Probably not, but this is about the only option he has if he doesn't wanna die of _sepsis_ , or whatever the hell kind of infection he has.

"I'm going to try to make this as painless as possible since I know it might hurt. Just tell me if you want to take a break, okay?"

"Okay," Jesse rasps out in response.

Deanna gets a bottle out, a familiar-looking aerosol. "Sylvie used to scrape her knees a lot as a kid," she tells Jesse, placing a free hand on an unscathed part of his shoulder. "She never really liked getting cuts cleaned up, so I'd always try to reward her afterwards to make it kind of a… I don’t know, more of a _soft_ experience, you know?"

Jesse clenches his jaw at the sting on his back. He recognizes the smell: Neosporin.

"Yeah, I didn't like this stuff as a kid, either,” he admits, tenseness audible in his voice.

"Well, I'll tell you what, Jesse. I'll make this worth your while," Deanna says, spraying more ointment onto him. It hurts and Jesse can't help but cry out, but he reaches over to cover his mouth before the noise escaped him. Deanna rubs Jesse's shoulder with her other hand.  "What's your favorite treat? You really like any kind of candy, deserts?"

It's hard to think through the pain. Jesse focuses on her, though, to the best of his effort. "Ain't I kinda — like, too old for that?" It’s kind of embarrassing to think that a grown man like himself would need a reward for dealing with shit like this.

"No, you are _not_ ," replies Deanna in the most maternal tone possible. "You can't be too old for positive reinforcement. If you want a gold star sticker, you deserve one. You're taking this like a fuckin’ champ. So, again, what do you like?"

In spite of the pain he's in, the way Deanna's sentence is worded manages to get a tiny laugh out of Jesse. It's short-lived and soon to be interrupted by a harsh cry of pain, but nevertheless genuine. He answers when he’s able to. "Oh, man. I, uh, I like brownies, I guess. Ice cream's also good."

"That's the spirit, man." It seems that Deanna's landing the praise on time with the cleaning of each cut. The Neosporin hurts at first, but the after-effect of numbness really does make a world of a difference. Really takes him back to the childhood days of getting cuts cleaned up, except this is way more severe and fucked up in nature. "Brownies and ice cream it is."

Jesse's about to start dreaming about ice cream when the memory of the last time he had ice cream hits him like a cinderblock to the chest. "Maybe just the brownies," he adds as an afterthought, correcting. Suddenly, ice cream isn't as appealing to him. "I'm, _uh_ , more a fan of warm dessert."

Yeah, that's better than explaining things in honest detail. Better than thinking about things too hard, as well.

"Just brownies it is," Deanna tells him. as she begins bandaging a significantly large lash on his back that hasn't healed properly. "Once I'm done, I'll go grab some brownie mix from the store and we'll make it happen."

"Awesome," replies Jesse. There's more pain than enthusiasm in his voice, but at least he's got something to look forward to after all of this. It's so goddamn difficult to show his body to another person, especially after what Jack's gang did to him. He wasn't ever particularly proud of his body to begin with (he always thought himself too small, too skinny and short by the standards most men have) but the scars just turn what would be awkwardness to complete _shame_.

"What happened to the people who did this?" asks Deanna. "They still out there, or what?" After a pause, she adds, "Am I gonna have to go kick someone's ass?"

Jesse wheezes out an almost-laugh, but it's far too sad to be anything humorous. The idea of Deanna rolling into the compound and kicking Neo-Nazi ass is pretty amusing. Hell, it’d be way better than what actually happened, considering the person who actually saved him was the one who _put him there_ in the first place. "Nah. They're, um… They're dead. The last thing Mr. Wh— uh, _Heisenberg_ did was let me go and kill all of them. Himself included."

" _Christ_ ," Deanna murmurs. "Well, good riddance. There isn't a Nazi in this world that deserves to keep on living, unless it's behind bars for the rest of their life." She applies another bandage over an infected cut, this time particularly firm. Jesse can feel the disdain she has toward the people who hurt him.

It feels better this way.

"Would you do it?" After a moment, Jesse clarifies. "Would you kill people like that?"

This question seems to give Deanna pause. She's quiet for a moment, taking her hands off Jesse to contemplate it. Then, she answers.

"If it were completely certain I could get away with it, or if it were to save myself or someone I cared about. I mean, yeah."

She hesitates before continuing, more glumly.

"I also know that our justice system is pretty fucked up, though, so if I didn't have a good reason, I'd spend probably my whole life in prison. So, other than those reasons, I'd say no. Those scumbags aren't worth going to prison for when I've got a family to take care of." After another pause, Deanna adds, "Also, I'm just straight up not a killer."

God, Jesse wishes he could say the same for himself, that he's not a killer. At least, in regards to people like Gale. Truthfully, he doesn't really regret killing Todd, but he can't help but wonder what Deanna would think of him if she _knew_.

"Do you think people who kill Nazis are bad?" Jesse cautiously asks her.

"Not necessarily. Not when Nazis want to kill people like me and my family, and all varieties of minority. I myself may not have it in me to kill people, but — sometimes it's nice, you know, to think there are vigilantes out there."

 _Vigilante_. That's one word Jesse wouldn't think to call himself, but by killing Todd, he did avenge Andrea's death in a way — Drew Sharp's, too. Even if Jesse never wanted to hurt anyone in the beginning, at least he could stop more people from getting hurt by Todd, himself included.

That's kinda fucked up, perhaps.

"Well, you're all done."

"What?" Jesse turns to Deanna, bewildered, sniffling.

"I mean, you're all patched up," she clarifies. I'll go grab a clean shirt and let you rest up."

"Oh, okay," Jesse replies, waiting as Deanna leaves to get him a clean shirt. The longer he has to look at his own body, the more self-conscious he begins to feel. Seeing bandages over his poorly-healed wounds helps, maybe, but knowing that Deanna has seen the worst of his physical self doesn't really help.

He's not even sure why; it's not as if Deanna's judged him over anything so far. Maybe it's just that lingering feeling trauma instilled, the feeling that everyone's out to judge him and see him as _stupid_ or a _junkie_ , not _macho_ enough, too sensitive. A grocery list of insecurities may not help Jesse at all, but it's all he's known and has no idea how to let go of it.

His shitty train of self-deprecating thought comes to an end when Deanna comes back with a clean shirt.

"Sorry for using so much of your clothes," Jesse apologizes meekly. "I feel like all I do is wear other people's stuff these days."

"Oh, don't even worry about it, honey," Deanna reassures him, giving him a soft pat on the shoulder as she hands over the shirt. "If you stay long enough, we can probably go clothes shopping and get you something more your own style. I'm sure there's something that fits you better than _gay punk old lady chic_." She smiles slyly.

Jesse laughs faintly at her choice of words as he slides on the shirt, giving himself that much-needed cover. "I'd really appreciate that, Mrs. Deanna. Though, your style is still pretty cool, I gotta say. You're pretty cool in general."

Dramatically, Deanna gives a little wave of her hand. "Oh, you flatter me. I'm glad you think so."

For a moment, silence befalls the both of them. Deanna looks over Jesse, and he looks back at her, and then she speaks again.

"You should get some rest, kid. You're gonna need it, you know. There's a whole life ahead of you filled with people who care, and you'll need that energy to keep living in it."

Jesse's silent for a moment. He speaks up only as Deanna's walking towards the door frame.

"Hey. Deanna. Thank you," he tells her, "for everything."

Deanna's smile grows, even if just a little. "That's what friends are for."

Jesse gets his much-needed rest, and when he wakes up from a long nap, the house smells like fresh-baked brownies.

His heavy heart begins to feel a little bit lighter.


	7. Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey! so i was originally planning on getting this done by september 24th, which is jesse's birthday listed on the BrBa wiki. but then i googled it, and google says his birthday is september 14th. so i guess i'm off on the canon birthday here anyways, but for the sake of this fic, we're saying it's on the 24th. after all, this is literally fanfic, and there's nothing canon about fanfic, anyhow! screw the rules, yo! enjoy this new chapter :-)

_September 24th_.

Tomorrow is September 24th.

Jesse keeps staring at the date on the calendar, just one day away. His birthday is _tomorrow_. _Christ_.

Of course, the ever-perceptive Deanna takes note of this, eyeing Jesse as he eyes the calendar. There’s a whole lot of eyeballing going on here.

"You looking for something, kid?" She's got on a fashionable leather jacket today, which admittedly makes her look cool as fuck. Jesse could only dream of becoming half as awesome as this lesbian mom, when he turns her age. ( _Whatever age she is._ )

"Oh, nah, just…" Jesse waves his hand around in the air emphatically, like the gesture could serve as a replacement for actual words. He doesn't manage to finish his sentence and instead just smiles in a wistful yet _slightly uncomfortable_ way.

"I completely get what you mean," Deanna tells him with a smile. Her tone is so convincing that Jesse's positive she _does_ understand him — that is, until she adds, "Actually, I don't follow at all."

Thus confirming her understanding to be more of a joke. Sarcasm. Almost like a dad joke. She's almost kind of like a dad, too. Life goals, yo.

"Uh, it's just that tomorrow's my…" Jesse trails off. He didn't really want to mention it earlier; announcing his birthday to people who are housing him for free already seems like an attention grab. "I'm gonna be 26 tomorrow, is all."

"For real?" Deanna raised her eyebrows, suddenly patting Jesse on the back. "Holy shit, dude, I didn't realize you were about to have a birthday! Why didn’t you say anything sooner?"

Is Jesse blushing a little? Perhaps. He's not used to people getting excited for him like this. Deanna sounds even more hyped than he is about his own birthday. "Yeah, nah, I just — you know, didn't think I should make a big deal about it, or anything."

"It's a big deal, Jesse," Deanna tells him, leaning up against the counter top. "You only turn 26 once. Hey, what do you want for your birthday?"

Jesse just laughs awkwardly, taking her question as a joke. Nobody could seriously be this generous toward him, right? The people in this house have already done so much for him. Deanna's probably just being so nice because she feels guilty or whatever, Jesse thinks. "You're not serious."

"I'm _so_ serious. Come on, let's go shopping. I'll buy the first thing you say you want. You know, within reason."

Oh, so she's _not_ fucking with him. Jesse can only shake his head. "I don't know if I can, uh…" Going shopping doesn't seem like a safe move; someone might recognize him. "Maybe it's best that I stay inside, Deanna."

Deanna's smile fades into concern, running a hand through her long brown hair. "Shit. Yeah, that's fine if you can't. I don't want to make you feel unsafe."

"Thank you," Jesse replied. He still isn't used to people being so understanding with him, honestly. 

Her enthusiasm makes Jesse feel kind of bad about saying no, though. So, in spite of his nerves, he forces out more words. "Actually, you know what? I can go. It sounds like fun, yo. Let’s — let’s do it."

"Are you sure?" Deanna's brows knit together and she appears to be scanning Jesse's face as if she's having trouble reading him. "I don't want to push you, man. It's okay if you're not feeling up to it yet."

Jesse shakes his head, forcing himself to smile reassuringly. He can't let Deanna down, even if it violates his own discomfort. All he can hope is that the smile is convincing enough.

Deanna seems convinced, at least. Thank god. "Well, if you're sure about it. You mind if Sylvie comes? I was gonna buy some school supplies for her, anyway."

"Yeah, totally, that's fine."

 

* * *

 

 

This feels like some kind of alternate universe, where he's been given a loving family instead of a couple stern parents who hated his guts. Jesse is riding in a car with a woman and her daughter who both appear to genuinely want him around. The music is nice and the sun is shining and he's out of the house in spite of the fact that it terrified him.

Sylvia hasn't hidden any joints in his room and gotten him kicked out, Lily has let him talk, and Deanna lets him paint without trying to push _data entry_ or some other boring shit on him. 

Like, it just feels like what a normal family would be like. It reminds him of how he got along with Ginny before her brain was overtaken by illness.

If Jesse had been born into this family instead, he probably never would've picked up the pipe. He probably wouldn't have gotten hooked on crystal as a mere teenager.

He could've thrived so much in a supportive environment, if he'd had one to grow up in.

Jesse rests his head against the back of the passenger's seat and watches the clouds as Deanna talks to Sylvia and him about an old childhood memory. It's a pleasant conversation to listen to, even if Jesse isn’t actively engaged in it.

It's normal.

This is _normal_ , right?

 

* * *

 

 

It's busy at the supermarket. Not overly so, but there are enough people around that Jesse certainly notices when he walks into the store with Deanna. He's got a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap on, another couple of things borrowed from Deanna. Beanies, of course, have always been more his style, but he hopes that wearing something on his head may discourage people from recognizing him. Nobody has so far since his escape, except for the one person who _did_ and wanted to help him for it. Deanna is awesome, but Jesse knows very well that she's in the minority of supporting Jesse.

Most people hate addicts already and, among that, distrust criminals.

A little cover from a makeshift doesn't hurt.

He keeps his hands in his pocket (just in case his tattoo is _that_ recognizable) and stays close to the only people he trusts.

"We should get you some clothes, huh?" Deanna nudges Jesse and he turns to face her a little too quickly.

"Y– yeah, that'd be cool, if it's really okay for you to spend that much money on me."

Deanna smiles at Jesse. "It's really okay. Don't sweat it, man, it's your birthday." She sounds so at ease, even if Jesse feels the opposite of that. He has no idea how she's able to be so regularly calm. "Do you want a cake made from scratch or would you rather just pick something out while we're here?"

"Whatever's cheapest, I guess," Jesse answers softly, shrugging.

"Dude, you're fine," Sylvia says, turning Jesse's attention to her. "It's okay to want things for your birthday."

God, these are so many choices. Letting out a short and anxious little laugh, Jesse answers, "I guess homemade would be nice, if it's really not gonna bug anyone to make it."

"It isn't. Let's go grab those groceries," Deanna says, steering the group toward the grocery section of the supermarket.

Jesse keeps himself slouched down and looks at the ground as he walks, hoping to god that nobody will notice who he is.

So, they get groceries, and it's just a normal shopping trip. They get the needed ingredients for a cake. Sylvia soon breaks off of the group to go browse school supplies and Jesse is left shopping with Deanna alone.

"Did you want to head off to the clothing section and pick some stuff out?" she asks Jesse with a smile. "You don't have to wait around while I help my kid pick out school supplies. I know that's not the picture of excitement."

Oh, Jesse really doesn't feel like being alone, not at all. But he's a _grown man_ , isn't he? This is something someone his age, someone healthy and well-adjusted, should be able to manage. Maybe Jesse’s not healthy or well-adjusted, but he’s capable of trying. What's that one term? _Fake it till you make it?_ Yeah, that's the one.

"Totally." Jesse swallows thickly. The air feels a little heavier for some reason, like he might drown in it. "I'll, uh… I'll just meet up with you guys after, huh?"

"You know it. We'll pop on over once we're done. It probably won't take too long, but go ahead and take your time."

Jesse just smiles. It's rather forced.

 

* * *

 

 

He always enjoyed shopping for clothes — at least, as early on as when he was finally allowed to pick out his own clothes as an early teen. Jesse's parents always preferred that he dress as a _fancy boy_ , a _refined_ little lad, but he knew who he was and what he liked. He loved the expression that clothing allowed him to have.

Jesse had fun picking out clothes, particularly when he went with the colorful ensembles with massive, bright hoodies. He had worn them much more often before losing Jane.

Now, his sense of style is a little less vibrant. He walks along rows of clothing, holding out a hand to briefly check the textures of the shirts he passes by. It's gotta be something comfortable, that's for sure. Kinda loose, soft, maybe a bit larger than his body size, but not to the extent of his old clothes.

On top of that, cheap as well. He can't go costing Deanna and her wife all that much, so Jesse sticks to the clearance racks for the most part, picks out a nice red flannel he really likes and grabs a couple shirts and pants as well. If he's got two or three outfits, he figures he can just wash them on repeat if need be, or just wear the same thing until people start to notice. Considering the clothing situation he had in his captivity, he's certain anything will be better than what he had there — or didn't have, to be more precise.

Jesse's in the middle of figuring out what else he can pick out when someone speaks to him.

"Can I help you with anything, sir?"

It's a man's voice, and he's dressed like an employee, but when he looks up…

 _No way_.

The goatee, the bald head — it's _him_. Or, so Jesse perceives it in his warped mind. He staggers away from him, eyes widened with fear.

"You're — you're not real," Jesse whispers. "You're gone."

"As if death would really deter me that much," Mr. White answers back with disappointment in his tone that Jesse's come to expect. "Who are you kidding with this little makeover? You're still yourself, no matter what happens. Do you really think those women are going to let you walk all over them once they figure out what you've done?"

Jesse's hyperventilating now. He averts his gaze, grinding his teeth together as he looks to the floor beneath him. "It's not like that," he murmurs. "You don't get it."

"What don't I get, Pinkman? Tell me what it is you think I'm missing out on here, because I guarantee that you trying to _think_ is what got you into this mess in the first place."

Jesse's head snaps back up, glaring painfully at Walter only to find him replaced with a very concerned store employee. It’s not Jesse’s former chemistry teacher, but just some guy who happens to be _bald_ with a _goatee_. He’s not even wearing any glasses, and he’s much older than Walter ever had been.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else," Jesse tells the guy apologetically, suddenly humiliated as he brushes past him quickly, fleeing the men's clothing section with the clothes he picked out still in hand.

He makes a beeline for Deanna and practically bumps into her.

"Whoa there," Deanna exclaims, holding her hands out in front of her as if she was instinctively ready to catch Jesse.

"Dude, are you okay?" Sylvia is just as concerned.

"I can't be here," Jesse answers. "I think I'm gonna be sick." He weakly drops the items he grabbed into Deanna's shopping cart and, desperate to grasp onto something, holds onto the edge of the cart. "Christ. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to waste your time like this."

"It's okay, man. You’re not wasting anyone’s time," Deanna tells Jesse reassuringly. She turns to Sylvia. "Sylvie, could you take my card and check everything out for me? I'm gonna walk Jesse to the car real quick."

"Yeah, of course," Sylvia replies.

Oh, _god_ , this is so embarrassing. "I'm sorry about this," he repeats himself with another apology, as if apologizing a million times for his publicly embarrassing behavior will minimize any of the damage. He turns to Sylvia. "Thanks, kid."

"Don't worry about it," Sylvie replies before her mother guides Jesse back to the car.

 

* * *

 

 

"I didn't wanna make this so shitty and awkward for everyone," Jesse tells Deanna as he plunks himself into the passenger's seat of Deanna’s car, running his hands over his face. His anxiety is overwhelming right now and he's got an impulsive feeling of wanting to _disappear_ out of shame. If only he could just instantly poof out of existence for a little while.

"You didn't," Deanna responds, strapping the seat belt onto him in a truly motherly fashion. "We're not assholes here, you know. Nobody's blaming you for having a panic attack. It’s okay, Jesse."

"You'd be surprised how many people have." Jesse wraps his arms around himself, shuddering. “Blamed me, I mean.”

"Well, those people suck."

Deanna's words get a little bit of an uneasy smile from Jesse. "Yeah, you're right." He likes her slightly rowdy but deeply caring attitude. Though, his smile soon fades as he remembers why he's here now. "This guy at the clothes department, he, like… he was bald and had a goatee and everything."

Jesus, this explanation is gonna make him sound insane, isn't it?

Jesse winces, rubbing his face and unintentionally knocking down his borrowed sunglasses. "I think I must've hallucinated or something, but god, I swore it was Walter, like, haunting me."

Deanna frowns, leaning up against the side of the car, her eyes cast downward in shame. "Shit. Man, I'm sorry I pushed you to leave the house this soon."

"Hey, no — nah, it's not like that," Jesse says with a shake of his head. "I wanted to go. Kinda. I mean, I was nervous but I thought it'd be a good idea to do it anyways. I didn't wanna seem crazy or anything. Guess it really backfired on me, huh?"

"It's not your fault," Deanna tells Jesse. "You can't help having a fuck ton of trauma. I just feel bad about putting you in this situation in the first place."

Jesse's quiet for a moment. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but Deanna continues right before he can.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad he's dead. If he came back again, I'd have to kick his ass for hurting you like he did."

She succeeds in getting Jesse to smile, just a little. "Good."

 

* * *

 

 

Mr. White comes back again. Just as Jesse begins to fall asleep, he sees him standing at the foot of his bed, staring silently and instilling level of cold, chilling horror that Stephen King or some other horror writer could master. The sight of him makes Jesse jump back, gasping for breath, heart pounding.

When he blinks, Walter's gone, and Jesse's left questioning whether or not it was a dream.

 

* * *

 

 

The house smells like cake.

Jesse got used to a good number of smells in the compound, none of which were pleasant.

There were his own smells: his blood, his sweat, and the assortment of bodily fluids one might associate with imprisonment in a hole.

Then, there were other things, like the specific brand of cigarette Jack's gang smoked. Jesse certainly remembered the way they smelled, and even more vividly the way that they hurt when put out on his skin. There are scars on Jesse's body that reflect it. He doesn’t like those.

There was the smell of chamomile tea, faintly lingering in the lab between times that Lydia visited. Jesse never saw her, but he once overheard the revolt in her voice when Todd asked if she wanted to see Jesse.

_Of course not! I don't want to see that._

Something like that, like a complete and utter lack of interest in seeing the horror she was in control of distributing. Like Jesse was no person, not a victim of slavery and unspeakable abuse, but… _that_ . Whatever the fuck _that_ was.

Then, there was the smell of the food in the compound. Todd was mostly responsible for feeding him, and usually fed Jesse well enough. He’d give things like pizza and ice cream as rewards, or he’d give Jesse cereal. When it was left up to the other men, though, they weren’t so kind. Sometimes they'd make Jesse eat dog food, which tasted much worse than it smelled. The men occasionally made a spectacle of it, took entertainment in treating Jesse like an animal.

But now Jesse is here. He's in a house that smells like cake, and it's his 26th birthday, and he's free at last. Not only that, but he's staying with people who actually like him and want him around, and they haven't showed any signs of kicking him out.

The thought alone that this is real, it's… totally mind-blowing, if Jesse's being honest with himself.

As he's getting dressed, the thought hits him that he's actually rather excited to leave the bedroom for once — looking forward to it, even. Maybe it's stupid or foolish of him to think so, but he's actually looking forward to his birthday. He's looking forward to seeing the people in this house who have taken him in like he's a long lost family member.

Shit, it feels like he just got here, like he's come to this house by chance, and he already wants to stay longer. Some part of him really hopes he can.

The moment he walks down stairs, he's greeted by Sylvie, who looks happy to see him.

"Hey, Jesse!" Sylvia waves him over to the couch, grinning in a way that brings hope to his heart. God, kids really are like a bright light in this shitty world.

"Yo," Jesse greets back, sitting on the couch. The television's noise comes soft, and Jesse thinks it might be _Friends_ , but god knows he's no expert. "G'morning. Uh, what are you watching?"

"Friends." Sylvia confirms the casual curiosity with ease.

Jesse turns his attention to the television just in time for one of the characters ( _the blonde one, he thinks it might be Phoebe?_ ) starts singing about a smelly cat. He never got hardcore into the show, but at the very least, it seems like easy watching. Hell, he would take it easy watching over anything that reminded him of his torture, particularly the news.

"Hey, uh," Jesse starts, bouncing his leg nervously. "I'm really sorry if I freaked you out yesterday, Sylvia. I didn't mean to take your mom away from you and, like, pressure you into the checkout." The thought about the situation has been nagging at him a little bit, admittedly.

Sylvia turns to Jesse, her brows furrowed. "It's okay, dude. I survived checking out groceries." She gives him a little lopsided smile, dividing her attention between him and the television which she appears quite transfixed on. Still, even as she watches TV, she still speaks to Jesse. "Are you okay, though? Not that it's really any of my business, but you seemed really upset."

Jesse looked down at the bandages around his wrists. "Yeah, I'm okay." Well, he really isn't okay, but telling a child about the depths of his trauma feels kind of wrong. Kids don't need to know about things like torture, do they? The world is fucked up enough for a teenager as it is. "I just get really, uh, afraid sometimes. You know, because of… trauma."

It feels weird to call it that, but if Jesse has learned anything from his sessions with Lily, it's that what he went through has been _incredibly_ traumatic. Looking at his own pain is difficult, but his whole life is pain anyways, so maybe eventually he'll just get used to it. Maybe it'll get easier to talk about.

"Trauma sucks," Sylvia softly replies. "I get that."

Jesse can certainly agree with that. "Shit, it sure does." For a moment, he debates on asking anything further before a question escapes him rather softly. "You deal with that, too?"

"I mean, yeah. Probably not in the same way as you, I've got a lot of that shit going on, too." For a moment, Sylvia is quiet before she adds, "I lost my uncle not all that long ago. You've probably heard my mom — uh, Deanna mention him before."

"Dave?" Jesse's voice is almost inaudible in competition with the tinny noise of the television.

Fortunately, Sylvia hears him well enough. "Yep," she replies softly. Turning to Jesse, she continues. "We were close. He was, like, one of the only decent male role models I had."

"Those are hard to come by," says Jesse. Honestly, he's never had many of those either, save for Mike. "I'm so sorry. Losing him must've been really hard on you."

"It was. God, I remember the day we lost him. I saw the paramedics taking him out, but it was too late—" Sylvia stopped herself. "Sorry. I should shut up. It's your birthday, not my own _pity party day._ " She winces, looking away with embarrassment.

"Hey, no, it's okay." Jesse's quick to shake his head. "I'm not judgin', or anything. Loss is a hard thing to deal with. It really is traumatic."

"Thanks," Sylvia replies, and, just like that, jumps back to the birthday topic. "Happy birthday, by the way. How old are you now?"

"Twenty-six."

"Wow, you're old."

Jesse laughs. "Yeah, I'm totally ancient."

He lets his attention fall back to the television and, in a sort of blank haze, allows it to numb his mind for a while. Sitcoms are easy to lose one's mind in, even if briefly before the commercial breaks start up again.

"So, where's your folks at?" Jesse asks as the next round of commercials begin. "I haven't seen 'em around."

"Out running errands," Sylvia replies. "They'll be back soon, I'm pretty sure."

"Cool."

 

* * *

 

 

Deanna comes home in the afternoon, just as expected. She greets Jesse with a smile.

"There's my favorite guy, uh — _birthday_ guy." The way she's fumbling with her words is endearing, in its own way. A basic human error as she seems to struggle between being a friend to a full-on _mom_ toward Jesse. He kinda of feels adopted, in a weird way, but that's not necessarily a bad thing.

"That's me," Jesse replies with a gesture to himself, standing up to greet Deanna. "You know, the _birthday guy_."

Deanna grins slyly, squinting at Jesse. "Yeah. How are you, by the way?" 

"I'm, uh…" Jesse starts, but the memory of his nightmare crops up as soon as he starts speaking. _Fuck_ , why does his brain always pull this kinda thing on him? "I'm all right. Officially a year older. Already havin' a better birthday than last year."

He remembers last year, how he spent so much on Mr. White's gift and Walter later couldn't even wish him so much as a happy birthday when Jesse's own birthday came along. Typical.

But, that's over now, and Jesse's entered a new era in his life, one that feels significantly more optimistic.

"How are you, Deanna?"

Deanna just smiles. "I'm pretty decent. Happy to be home after running around doing hum-drum errands." She's quick to jump to the subject of Jesse's birthday again. "Hey, when do you want your gifts? I can give you my half of everything now, if you want."

"Oh." Jesse hadn't been expecting that. He's still not used to people giving him actual gifts. He’s been totally fucked up by months of imprisonment and it really shows, particularly when people are kind to him. "Uh, anytime works. I mean, if you want me to wait, or something, I'll totally wait."

Deanna nonchalantly flicks her wrist, waving her hand dismissively. "Nah, you're fine. Let me go grab your stuff." She makes a start toward her bedroom.

Jesse eagerly awaits this. _Friends_ continues to play in the background. He can't help but wonder what Deanna meant by _her half_. Did Lily plan something as well?

It doesn't take too long for Deanna to return with a sturdy paper gift bag in hand. She sets it by Jesse before taking a seat on the couch nearby. "All right, here's the first gift. Or, uh, _gifts_."

"Oh, shit." Jesse eagerly delves into the bag, his hands touching something sturdy and smooth. Pulling the item out, he's greeted with a high-quality leather-bound sketchbook. "Yo…"

He looks to Deanna. She's practically beaming, more expressive and visibly excited than he's probably ever seen her. "What do you think? You like it?" She’s clearly excited to get a reaction.

"I love it," Jesse's voice is soft with awe and gratitude. Opening up the sketchbook, he flips through the clean, milky white pages that have been completely untouched. Blank, and ready for sketching. "Oh, my god, thank you, Deanna."

"That thing looks awesome," comments Sylvia. "You gonna fill it with sketches of neat stuff like that desert drawing you did?"

Jesse turns to Sylvia. "You know I am." Facing the bag again, he sets the sketchbook down to search through everything else. Among the gift he's just received is a set of colored pencils and a book on woodworking. Jesse holds the book on his lap, running his fingers over the texture of the pages, a smile ever-present on his face. It's thick and full of glossy, full-color images intricate carvings and furniture. It’s got that _new book smell_ to it, too.

"You mentioned being into woodworking, right?" Deanna asks. "I didn't really know what kind of wood or tools to get, since I've never done that kind of thing before, but…" She gestures to the book. "That's definitely a _start_ , right?"

Jesse sets the book down with the rest of his gifts and, without thinking much before it, moves over to give Deanna a hug. "Of course it is. It's perfect. All of it is. Thank you for everything."

Deanna hugs him back with all the fervor he could hope for, and Jesse practically melts into the hug, resting his chin on her shoulder. Her embrace is so warm, so comforting that Jesse wishes it would last forever.

"You're too nice to me," Jesse murmurs against Deanna's shoulder.

She gives him a hearty but (still somehow tender and nurturing) pat on the back. "I think it's everyone else that hasn't been nice enough to you."

Jesse smiles sadly. Eventually, he lets go of Deanna, not because he wants to but because he'd worry about seeming awkward otherwise. "You're seriously the coolest," he tells her, and the compliment is genuine and heartfelt. "I'm so glad you found me and took me in."

Deanna laughs below her breath, a soft chuckle. "I am, too, kid. Happy birthday."

 

* * *

 

 

Lily comes home before dinner, which Jesse got to decide for the day. He opted for ordering pizza because it was, in his own humble opinion, a classic birthday food. Also, he didn't want anyone to feel like they had to cook him anything, considering the effort that had already gone into baking the cake.

As the family sat down for dinner, the whole home smelling of cake and pizza, Lily spoke to Jesse.

"So, do you want the whole experience of having the family singing _Happy Birthday_ to you?" She asked as she sat down beside Jesse at the kitchen table.

Jesse laughed awkwardly. "I mean… I never really know what to do when people sing that to me."

"I don't think anyone does," Lily says. "When I was a kid, I liked to mess around and sing it with everyone. That got some laughs out of people." Her words are nostalgic in tone and she smiles. "Nowadays, as an adult, I just kind of live in the moment and let it happen. It comes from a place of love, even if it's a little awkward."

Jesse shrugs. "I feel that. I mean, I don't want you guys to do that for me if it's just, like, fake."

"Well, it certainly wouldn't be performative," says Lily. "But, if you'd rather just keep things low-key, that's okay, too."

It's nice to have a choice, even on something so small like this. "Thanks, yo. I think, uh, just having dinner and stuff without the song is okay. I think the _Happy Birthday song_ is way too _hardcore partying_ for me."

Jesse's joke gets a laugh out of Lily. "Oh, that's a good one. Low-key it is, then."

Deanna and Sylvia join them at the table, and Jesse takes it as an excuse to go to town in that pizza. It’s fresh, made by a local restaurant, and much better than any pizza _Todd_ ever gave him, that’s for sure. But it’s Jesse’s birthday, and he’s not gonna think about that asshole right now.

"How's the food, man?" Deanna asks him, squinting comedically. "Would you say I did a good job ordering it?"

"I can tell you the dudes who make pizzas all day definitely made it with love," Jesse replies after swallowing down a bite. God, he missed pizza. "Thanks for ordering it, by the way."

Deanna waves her hand through the air, making a gesture to suggest it's no big deal. Then, she says the exact thing that the gesture would imply. "It's no big deal. You deserve to have whatever you want for dinner."

Jesse smiles. It's nice to have his wants taken into consideration.

 

* * *

 

 

"How are you holding up?" Deanna asks Jesse, taking a seat out beside him on the back porch. The chirp of crickets and the gentle night breeze are soothing, and Jesse’s practically been basking in it all for the past half hour. It's late — well, late by Jesse's new standards, at least. In the olden days of _meth-induced insomnia_ , he'd stay up for days without even feeling like he needed sleep, only to crash for days at a time. Right now, though? Jesse's got enough exhaustion for a lifetime.

"Not gonna lie, I'm feeling pretty tired, yo." Jesse's midway through a yawn when he speaks, and he hopes that his words are still even legible at that point. "I might head off to bed soon, if that's cool."

"Well, you definitely don't need permission to sleep," Deanna tells him with a sympathetic smile. "If you need to rest up, you're free to do that."

Jesse smiles just a little. "Thanks." Surely, he appreciates being able to do things like that on his own terms. He scratches at the back of his head, glances around the yard before looking back to Deanna. "You doing okay, yourself?"

"I am," she replies. "I always like birthdays. Tell you the truth, though, I'm more a fan of adult’s birthdays." Letting out a soft chuckle, she plays with the leaves of a stray weed poking out between the dirt and the porch step. "Not that kids' ones didn't have their merits. Sylvie's were always pretty fun when she was little."

The nostalgic conversation, too, is soothing. Jesse looks to Deanna, raising a brow. "Yeah?" His voice is soft as he speaks to her. "I bet it's pretty amazing, getting to be a parent like that. Bet nothing compares to it."

"I wouldn't trade it for a thing in the world," Deanna replies, and Jesse can tell she's being honest about it. "There's something really empowering about starting a family with the love of your life. Especially when you come from a broken-ass home with parents who love you _conditionally_ . Getting to decide who your family is — it's _powerful_ , you know?"

Jesse thinks of Andrea and Brock, and a pang of guilt hits him hard. "God, I bet. I've always kinda wanted a family like that, one that really wanted me." He kicks his foot against the grass, but it's gentle enough not to disturb or damage it. "Never really realized that until it was too late, though."

"Why's it too late?" Deanna cocks her head to the side.

"I mean, I kinda missed every chance I had with that."

Deanna's quiet for a moment and Jesse suddenly worries that he's said the wrong thing. He winces, looking downward, only for Deanna to respond soon after.

"You've got a chance now," she tells him, and it sounds almost like it's an offer. That's enough for Jesse to turn to her.

"I do?" Surely, he doesn't want to be presumptuous, but Jesse can't help but feel a twinge of emotion in his heart when he even asks for conformation. "How so?"

"Well, you know you're very welcome around here. We all want you around." For a moment, Deanna pauses, hesitant before adding, "I mean, I hope you know that."

"Yeah, but for how long?" Jesse asks. "I mean, when we talked about this before, about it being my _destination_ and all, I didn't think you meant me staying here, like, forever."

Deanna shrugs. "I don't know if _anything_ lasts forever, to be perfectly honest, but that _is_ what I was getting at." Looking up to the star-filled sky, she continues to speak. "You've got a family here, kid, if you choose to have it."

Jesse's tearing up. _Again_. He's more used to crying than he is to kindness. Still, he nods his head. "Yeah, of course. I wanna stay."

"Well then, you absolutely can." Deanna wraps her arm around Jesse, a sturdy hand on his shoulder. "Fuck everyone who's been so cruel to you. You've got two new moms who are gonna love the shit out of you. _Unconditionally_."

Jesse leans against Deanna, resting his head on her shoulder. "That's all I could ever hope for." He lets out a laugh, and it's as bittersweet in tone as his next words are. "I didn't wanna say this before, 'cause I didn't wanna put this on you, but…"

He trails off, fingers anxiously twitching. Saying it alone feels like dropping a bomb, but Jesse decides to say it, anyways.

"I think you saved my life."

Deanna doesn't seem to follow at first. She narrows her eyes, like she’s not entirely following. "By cleaning your wounds?"

"I mean, that too, but overall, just taking me in — like, you _saved_ me. I really didn't have much before we met. Didn't have that many people looking out for me, didn’t have anywhere to go. I was kinda just… lost."

Sure, he had his friends, but something about going to them made Jesse nervous. He didn't want to endanger them by being so close by when the cops were surely searching all of Albuquerque for him.

Deanna moves in a little closer to hold Jesse more firmly. It feels nice, sensory-wise. He's always loved being held, especially by people who are taller than he is.

"Well, good, because you're important, and you should be alive," Deanna says, matter-of-factly. "I know that you simply being here isn't some magic fix-it-all for the pain, but I'm really glad to have you around. You're a nice guy, and you deserve a chance to heal up."

Jesse still has a hard time understanding other people's faith in him, but right now, he'll accept this validation. He leans against Deanna a little more, allowing her presence to be a much needed comfort. "You're, like, the best mom ever."

Deanna lets out a little laugh, and Jesse feels her shoulders rise and fall with it. "I'm pretty great, I guess. If you wanna see an even  _better_ mom, though, you should go see Lily." She winks at Jesse. "She's still got a birthday present for you, you know."

Raising an eyebrow, Jesse perks up a bit. "Yo, she does? For real?" Admittedly, he's quite excited. "Are you sure? ‘Cause, what you gave me already is pretty great."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure about it," Deanna tells Jesse with a grin. "You wanna check that out? It's something you can use tonight."

Oh, well, now Jesse is _definitely_ curious. "Yeah, okay. I'm definitely down."

Deanna breaks the hug and lets go of Jesse, giving him another little pat on the back as she heads toward the door. It takes Jesse a second to stand back up, his knees aching when he does. That unfortunately seems to be a regular thing for his body, after months in the compound. The aftermath and its physical effects have lasted much longer than he wants them to.

Following Deanna inside, Jesse's increasingly eager to find out what the gift is as he walks through the house. Lily's sitting at the table, looking over some notes, when she sees Jesse. "Oh, there you are. I was wondering when you two would come back inside."

"Hey," Jesse greets her with a small wave of his hand. "What's up?"

"Just reviewing things for work," Lily replies, smiling when she sees her wife approach her. Deanna gives Lily a kiss on the cheek, grinning with all of the love in her eyes.

"I may have thrown a few hints around about Jesse's birthday present you got for him," Deanna tells Lily.

"Oh!" Lily appears surprised, like she forgot about the gift she got for Jesse. "That's right! I'll go get that. Give me _one_ minute."

As Lily went to retrieve it, Jesse stands there with Deanna. His eyes accidentally wander toward the papers Lily is working on and he catches a brief glimpse of his first name. He quickly looks away, realizing he's probably seen too much already. It’s really none of his business, is it?

Fortunately, Jesse’s easily distracted by the time that Lily comes back with a wrapped gift. It's fairly large, around the size of a pillow, and a bit lumpy — she's carrying it in a way that suggests it's considerably heavy. "Sorry the wrapping is kinda messy. Deanna's the real artist here," she apologizes with a laugh, placing the gift atop the table.

"You don't gotta say sorry, yo. I'm just flattered that you did this for me," Jesse replies, genuine gratitude in his words. As he opens up the present, he feels a surge of intrigue. "It's a blanket?"

"Yeah," Lily answers, gesturing to the gift. "It's a weighted blanket. Have you ever used one before?"

"Nah, I haven't," Jesse says as he pulls the remaining wrapping paper away, looking over the plastic packaging for the blanket. Unzipping it, he runs a hand over the blanket's surface. "I didn't even know these were a thing. It's real soft." He turns to Lily, smiling and speaking softly. "Thank you. This looks really nice."

"You wanna get it set up on your bed?" Lily asks.

Jesse nods. "Yeah." He reaches to pick it up and feels just how heavy it is. "Whoa, this _is_ heavy."

"Yeah, you want me to get that for you?" Deanna asks. It's a nice offer, considering Jesse's just spent half a year doing heavy lifting by force.

Even so, Jesse shakes his head. "I got it," he reassures her. "But thank you for offering. You're both real sweet."

If he was exhausted before, he sure is once he reaches his bedroom with the blanket in his arms. Lily helps him set it up on the bed, and when it's finally on there, he lets out a sigh of relief.

"So, how's this supposed to work with all the weight and stuff?" Jesse turns to Lily, visible confusion written all over his face. As he speaks, he gestures emphatically with his hands toward the blanket. "I don't mean to sound like a dumbass or anything, it's just that I'm new to… this."

"You're no _dumbass_ ," Lily assures him. "Asking questions when you don't know something is a sign of intelligence. To answer your question, the weight is for comfort. I've recommended these to a lot of my patients who deal with anxiety, and I thought it might help for you."

"Man, that sounds real nice." Lifting up the edge of the blanket, Jesse pulls it onto himself. He immediately notices how the weight feels upon him. "Yo, this _is_ nice. It's — it's like gettin’ a hug."

Jesse flops onto the bed with the new blanket over his shoulders, like a cat getting pet in just the right spot. Holy shit, it’s comfortable.

"This thing is awesome, Lily."

Lily lets out a soft laugh, running a hand through her curly hair. "I'm glad you think so." She seems entirely happy for Jesse. It's so heartwarming. "I hope it works well for you."

"It's perfect," Jesse tells her without hesitation. "Thanks again for this." As he lays there, so incredibly comfortable, he watches Deanna step in through the doorframe. Jesse is sure to add, "Both of you are amazing. Seriously, this is the best birthday I've had in a long time."

Not only that, but it’s first birthday without _Walter_ , too. It feels freeing to realize that.

"The first of many, as long as you're here with us," says Deanna.

"I'm not going anywhere," Jesse tells her, and he really does mean it.


	8. Gnome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whee, new chapter! Thanks for your patience, guys. The end of the year has been pretty rough and busy for me, but I really wanted to get this out since I've been working on it for so long! Please enjoy, and know that if you decide to write a comment for me, you'll be brightening up my day completely.
> 
> Trigger warning for addiction/cravings in this chapter, by the way. Also, Todd flashbacks (in reference to El Camino) with typical Todd-level creepiness. Read safely!

"What would you like to talk about today?"

Jesse's been seeing Lily as a therapist regularly. It's often in the comfort of the guest room he's been staying in, but sometimes when that gets monotonous, they move around. Right now, they're on the back porch. It's quiet enough outside and there are no neighbors out currently to potentially overhear the ensuing conversation. That makes it a good place to talk about confidential things, Jesse figures.

Lily and her family have a beautiful yard filled with gardens that have their own ornate decorations. Little statues and shit, mostly, but there's also this tiny gnome sitting in one nearby flower pot that Jesse keeps looking over to.

It's kind of funny, to talk about trauma while staring at a tiny, jolly ceramic gnome. The thing looks so much happier than Jesse’s even capable of feeling.

So, Jesse holds onto his sketchbook and sketches it while he thinks of a subject to talk about. "Shit, I don't know. I guess that makes me pretty bad at therapy, huh?"

Lily raises her eyebrows, shaking her head. "Not at all. You can't be bad at therapy." Pausing, she added, "But, for what it's worth, I think you're an excellent patient."

It feels like Lily's just saying that to get Jesse to smile — but, it works, and he does. He fucking loves the praise, it's not a secret. Not to sound crass, but if validation were a drug, he’d snort it up every day so often his nose would bleed. "You probably say that to all your patients."

"Oh, I don't," Lily says matter-of-factly. "I say it to a good few of them because it's true. Not that I can tell you _too_ much about my other patients because of confidentially."

Jesse sketches the slope of the gnome's round, jolly face. What’s it like to be a gnome, made of porcelain, sitting in a flower pot in a lesbian family’s back yard? What a simple life it would be. He pauses to look at Lily. "Yo, doesn't that ever get lonely? Like, hearing about people's shitty lives and not being able to say anything?"

Lily pauses for a moment, crossing her legs as she sits on the sun-aged but cushy patio furniture. "I would think the same about you, though. How many people were you able to talk to during those two years of your life?"

"Huh," Jesse murmurs in response, thinking about the question. "That's a totally fair point, I guess. Not that many people." At this point, Lily knows the general information about Jesse's background. Not initially from the news like Deanna (though, she may have figured it out but was too polite to say anything) but from Jesse telling her himself.

She actually handled it pretty well, but the concern she had when learning that Jesse was (and unfortunately still is) actually _the_ Jesse Pinkman was — well, very much real.

She still doesn't know all that many details yet. Nobody does, Jesse would surmise. A lot of secrets died with the people who died as well.

"Okay, but what if someone tells you that they murdered someone? What do you do then?"

"Well, if that person has the intention of killing or hurting more people, I call the police. Otherwise…" Lily plays with the pen on her clipboard, frowning tensely before she shrugs. "I can't do anything about it."

"What if you're, like, totally freaked out about it? You don't have anyone to go to?"

"Well, I have my wife I can talk to, but I'm not allowed to tell her details. Deanna's always been pretty good at comforting me after hard days. Otherwise, I could _also_ go to therapy."

Jesse raises his eyebrows. "Like a chain of therapists?"

"Like a chain of therapists," Lily repeats in confirmation. Shaking her head, she gestures to Jesse. "Enough about me, though, we're here for you. How are you doing today, Jesse?"

That question makes Jesse pause. "Uh, you know…" Trailing off, he frowns as he thinks about his situation. "Better, for sure. I mean, don't get me wrong, I still always feel just a little bit shitty 'cause of the trauma and shit, but…"

Words are hard sometimes. Jesse goes over his gnome sketch with some heavier pencil lines as he thinks of what exactly he can say to explain his state of being.

"I guess I said better because, like, I got my own clothes now, and art supplies, and I'm living in an awesome house with an amazing family. Plus, I feel like more of a person than, like, a house pet."

At first, she appears flattered by the words about her family, but then Lily's brows furrow and she appears gently concerned. "Do you ever feel like a pet here?"

Jesse's quick to backtrack. "Oh, no way, Mrs. Lily, not at all. I just… I don't know, I guess that's how I felt _at best_ in Jack's place, you know? Like, that feeling is kinda hard to shake. Sometimes I don't even have a good reason for it, but I start feeling like I'm back there, or like I'm the same person I was in that cage."

"But you _do_ have a good reason for it, don't you?"

"No?" Jesse squints, taking a break from his sketching to look incredulously at Lily. "I'm not in any kinda danger here at your house. I'm just… I don’t know, I think I’m just _stupid_." A pause, and he corrects himself. "Or, my brain's stupid."

"You aren't stupid," Lily reassures him. "Your brain isn't, either. Actually, your brain's doing what it's supposed to do."

Jesse appreciates being told that he's not stupid. At the same time, with all the brain talk, he's admittedly not entirely following what Lily is saying. "How?"

"The way you're feeling is all just a natural reaction to what happened to you. Your brain is in survival mode because it needed to be for so long in order to protect you."

This response actually dumbfounds Jesse. He looks at her again, mouth slightly agape, questioning without saying anything.

Lily continues after writing something down onto her clipboard before speaking. "The brain develops Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder as a way to protect itself from something traumatic that happened to you. You had to survive in that compound, and you _did,_ didn't you? You survived then, and you also survived when you worked with Walter."

Scratching his head, Jesse's voice has suddenly become much softer. "Yo, but if that's true, why am I still feeling like that now? Why do I get all these nightmares that… that _definitely_ don't help?"

"Those are side effects, and they're things that we can work on," Lily says. For a while, she's quiet as she thinks, before asking. "What would you do if you were put in another situation like the one you were in? Would you know what to do if someone like Walter came into your life again?"

"What, like someone who poisons kids and kills everyone I love and constantly calls me an idiot?" Jesse is disturbed, even offended at the thought of the hypothetical. "I'd run like hell before it got bad, yo. I can't deal with that shit again."

"Isn't running dealing with it, though? You know now that you can run away. You'd get that fight or flight response because your brain adapted to having it with those elevated levels of stress."

"So, what? My brain's just got _tingly senses_ for whenever there's danger now? Like _spider-man?"_

"Sort of." Lily smiles gently. "Even if you aren't in a dangerous situation anymore, you're still prepared for it. What you _can_ do now is manage the symptoms and process that trauma."

Jesse's quiet for a moment as he processes all of this. It's a whole lot of new information to handle and he's not sure what to make of it.

"So I got PTSD, huh? Like, the real deal?"

"I'm not a psychiatrist, so I can't legally diagnose you on paper, but you meet a lot of the criteria for it. Do you know about the disorder?"

There's this feeling that hits Jesse often, and has historically in his life — this feeling of being kind of dumb, or unworthy of this complex kinda shit. That's how he feels now. He frowns, feeling a little bit self conscious about his lack of understanding. "Not all that much. I mean, if I compared myself now to me like two years ago, I'd say I definitely got worse in pretty much every way, so I guess it makes sense."

He's really putting detail into this gnome drawing. Maybe even too much detail.

"I mean, I'm not totally uneducated about mental health shit, 'cause I know a lot about ADHD, which I got diagnosed with, but I know that's different."

Lily raises her eyebrows, quick to make note of that, literally, on her board. "That's definitely some helpful information. How old were you when you got your diagnosis?"

"I was, like, around ten. It was before my parents had Jake, my little bro." Jesse taps the back of his pencil against the paper, bouncing the eraser around idly. "They, uh, took me into do some tests. Of course, I didn't know what the tests meant, so I just tried to win at 'em like they were games. Anyways, turns out I had that attention deficit shit, so they put me on some meds and called it a day."

"I see," Lily acknowledges with a nod. "Did the medication help you?"

"Oh, yeah, it helped a lot, until I started taking more than what I was prescribed and got totally hooked on it," Jesse replies with a bitter tone. "I got some actually good grades for a little while, and it made me feel good about myself, like _really_ good about myself, for the first time, like… _ever."_

He pauses, casting his head downward.

"I mean, that's kinda what got me into meth when I got older, you know? 'Cause they're both amphetamines and all, and meth is basically Adderall times a hundred. It made me feel… _incredible._ It made everything interesting, like I could just _do_ shit without fucking up with my attention or all the fear I had. Then I figured out how to make money from it, 'cause meth's expensive as shit, and I learned how to turn a profit or whatever. So…"

Making a swirly gesture with his hand, Jesse summed up his tangent, wincing. "So, yeah, I know about ADHD. Not all that much about PTSD, though." As if _making meth_ could ever be considered a common symptom of any mental illness. Christ, has Jesse ever been mentally healthy, like ever?

"Well, I'm happy to answer any questions you have about it," Lily calmly tells Jesse. "Or, give any information you might want. There's a possibility that you may have C-PTSD, too, as many symptoms overlap. I'd need to get to know you a little better to make that assessment for sure."

Jesse finishes his drawing of the gnome. By now, he's put way more detail into it than what he initially planned to draw. He ruminates for a while, silent as he considers Lily's words. It's fucking crazy to think about the fact that he's got PTSD from everything he's gone through. Weird, how he even managed to survive it in the first place. Looking back on it, the past two years have been fueled by either meth, adrenaline, or both. Really, he hasn't had a peaceful moment — until now, that is.

Even then, his brain doesn't feel like it's at peace.

"I get a lot of flashbacks," Jesse admits, staring at his finished drawing. "When I take showers, I… I see them, hitting me with a hose. Like, high pressure water and everything. And I look in the mirror and see this beard I still have, and…" Oh, christ, he can practically _feel_ Todd's hands stroking his head and face like he was a goddamn animal. The thought makes Jesse shudder, and he can't even finish the sentence. So, he shifts things a bit. "And the nightmares. God, they're horrible."

“I imagine so. I’m sorry that you have to deal with those nightmares.” Lily tilts her head to the side a bit. "Is there something about the beard that bothers you?"

"Ugh." Jesse bows his head. "I don't know why I kept it this long. Guess it took a second for the memories to really hit me, but Todd used to touch my face a lot. My hair, too." The thought makes him visibly cringe. "He'd, like, lick his hands and try to use his spit to style my hair. It was fucking _gross_."

"That _is_ gross. Jesse, I'm so sorry," Lily says, her words gentle and genuine. "That sounds like it was horrible for you. I mean, I know _I_ wouldn't want anyone to do that to me. It’s a clear violation of boundaries. That must've been unnerving."

 _"Yeah,"_ Jesse replies with a grimace, covering his mouth with his hand and avoiding eye contact. "Yeah, everything he did was creepy. He'd pet me like I was a fucking dog. He would act all worried about me after everyone beat the shit out of me, but he wouldn't stop them. The asshole even acted like we were _friends,_ and you wanna know something really fucked up?"

Lily gives a small nod, prompting Jesse to keep talking.

"I got _used_ to it. It just was… like, that became the new normal for me. Like, there were a few times I found myself sitting in that cage, stinking like shit, starving and exhausted, and I just felt… _grateful_ , for every day I wasn’t actively getting tortured or beat up. For every time they _didn't_ hurt people I loved." Turning his gaze to the sky, he can visualize the bars clearly in his mind. "Sometimes I wake up now, and, like, I hear the tarp above my cage still. It made this real specific sound in the wind. Fluttering around, like a kite or a tent, almost. I mean, is that _normal?"_

There's a moment of silence that passes, and Jesse wonders what he said to make things so quiet.

"Your mind just adapted to a horrible situation you were forced to go through," Lily finally says. "It wasn't normal, really, but it may have felt that way because you were trying so hard to survive. You didn't deserve it, Jesse. I mean, the kind of treatment you endured — you went through some of the worst conditions a person could endure."

Jesse sighs heavily, flipping to another page in his sketchbook. He settles for sketching the flowers in the garden they keep in the back yard here. Nature is a calming subject. "I just hate being like this, you know? I miss the person I used to be. Like, not before the cage, but before Mr. White came back into my life. Shit, maybe I wasn't much back then, but at least nobody got seriously hurt 'cause of me."

At least he wasn't a _murderer_ back then. Though, these are all things he hasn't told Lily about. Even with the confidentiality she's promised, something feels kinda, like, _fundamentally wrong_ about living with her and telling her he murdered a guy. Well, more than one guy, technically.

"You may have changed because of your trauma, but I can promise you that you're not hopeless," Lily tells Jesse. "You're already on the road to recovery, just by talking about it with me. I can see the progress you've made in the time you've been here alone, you know."

"Really?" Jesse can't see much, but god, does he crave validation. He really doesn't feel like he's recovered much, but it's still nice to hear that anyways.

Lily smiles gently. "Really."

 

* * *

 

"I hate to have to put you back down here, Jesse, but rules are rules." It was a well-meaning sort of phrasing. The thing was, Todd sounded like he really meant it. Jesse was not even sure if that was better or worse, but knowing that he was genuinely _like that_ somehow felt far more disconcerting.

"I know," Jesse replied limply as he simply _let_ Todd put the handcuffs back onto his bruised, dirty wrists. Their fun had already been had --- well, it was more like _fun_ for Todd, and freshly acquired trauma for Jesse. He kept seeing that poor lady's face every time he blinked.

Todd's fingers still had grease on them from the pepperoni pizza. 

"It really was convenient that the boys went out to Elephant Butte for as long as they did. Made a great opportunity for us to hang out."

 _Hang out_. Jesse gritted his teeth and said nothing. All he wanted to do was tear Todd apart and run for his life, but at this point, it was all just a fantasy. He couldn't even bring himself to kill Todd back in the desert.

And, god damn it, even admitting it was gutting, but that pizza actually tasted pretty _good._

Todd put a hand on Jesse's shoulder and gently guided him down the ladder. Jesse weakly complied as he crawled back into his cage once again, resigned to his filth like a chained-up dog sadly laying down onto the ground.

He daydreamed about what might have happened if someone saw him and Todd while they were outside of the compound together. Maybe someone would have wanted to save Jesse, if they'd seen him as filthy and scarred as he was now. Maybe he'd be free. Or, maybe he wouldn't have even _let_ anyone save him, because of how afraid of the consequences he truly was.

Still, he couldn't help but yearn to be anywhere else as Todd climbed down the ladder to join him in his cage.

 

* * *

 

Jesse looks down at the shaving razor on the bathroom counter, and then back into the mirror. He looks at his beard, which has gotten way too goddamn long. In an instant, he decides that shaving off the beard is gonna be for the best.

The rest of his hair can stay for now, because he likes it at this length and Deanna did a pretty good job cutting it, but it's on thin fucking ice. There's something about trauma that really does make haircuts feel so _right_. Timely, and shit.

One more thing that belonged to Todd, now gone. He throws out the clothes he came here in, while he's at it. Even if he can't get that creepy psycho son of a bitch out of his nightmares, he can still get rid of the physical reminders. That's a step in the right direction, Jesse hopes.

Nobody owns him anymore. Todd is dead, and Jesse survived everything.

 

* * *

 

One month into staying with Deanna and Lily.

One month, and the worst of all thought processes hits him -- something that he didn’t expect to be triggered out of seemingly nowhere, but here it is anyhow, and it fucking _sucks_. With the fact that he’s seeing Lily for talk therapy sessions and all, he’d think that everything was going just fine in his process of recovery. That’s clearly not the case, though, because when he wakes up one morning, he’s got the indescribable urge to _use_ , and it sets his entire brain on fire. And not in the good way.

The first person he can think to go to is Deanna. Maybe that’s a bad idea, maybe it’s horrible and destructive of him to even think of it, considering her brother was an addict and he _died_ , and telling her that he wants to find snort a line of _Tina_ isn’t gonna help at all.

But there’s some part of Jesse that really, _really_ hopes she’ll understand.

 

“Hey,” he greets as he steps over to Deanna. She’s in her art room, or something -- _her studio?_ Whatever it’s called, she’s in there, working on a painting, when Jesse finds her. Jesse himself is shaky, filled with energy that seems to be born out of nowhere. His heart is racing at the thought of how much better he’d be feeling if he were high. His mouth is dry. He hates this about himself. He hates being this way.

“Hey, man. Did you change your hair, or something? You look much smoother now.” Deanna turns to him with a smile, sweet and relaxed as ever, but it fades when she really gets a look at Jesse. “Um, are you okay?”

Jesse waves a hand around in the air, forcing a wide, toothy smile. “Uh, yeah! I shaved the beard off last night, ‘cause, uh…” Trailing off, he can’t seem to find it in him to make small talk, and he really doesn’t want to talk about Todd or explain why he decided to get rid of his beard. There are other, more pressing thoughts in his head. So, naturally, he fucking deflects, his artificial grin faltering significantly. “How are you -- how are _you_ doing, and all that?”

Deanna frowns. “ _I’m_ fine. You sure you’re okay, Jesse?” She gives him a once-over, brows knit together in concern as she adjusts her glasses. “You look nervous. You know I’m not going to force it, or anything, but you know you can talk to me, right?”

Jesse’s face falls when his deflection doesn’t worse. “Yeah, of course.” _On the surface level, yeah, yeah, he’s fine, but wouldn’t a little hit make things better? Wouldn’t it be great to get some dopamine for once in his life?_ The thoughts hit him like a train and he winces. He can’t make eye contact anymore. “Yeah, no, it’s just… I’m feelin’ kinda nervous today. Antsy, and all.”

That’s one word for it. _Antsy_.

Shaking his head rather quickly, Jesse starts rambling again, as he often does when nervous. “You probably have a lot of work to do today, but I was just, like, wondering if you were busy today. Are you?” A pause, and he takes a shuddering breath. “Like, _busy_ , I mean?”

"Not particularly." Deanna sets down her brush. Jesse glances to what she's working on; it's a painting of the ocean and a cliffside overlooking it. There's a lighthouse in the distance that's still in sketch phase. Speaking again, Deanna draws Jesse's attention back to her. "Why? You wanna do something?"

Oh, _god,_ does he ever. "Yeah. I do. You wanna, like, go somewhere? Get out of the house, get some fresh air and shit? Some place where there aren't all that many people?"

"Yeah," Deanna says with a nod, not even hesitating to reply. "Let's go somewhere. There are some real nice parks around here, out in nature. It's pretty private, forested. You wanna go to one of those?"

"Yes. Absolutely, uh, right on. Let's go." Anything for Jesse to keep himself busy and distracted from his thoughts.

So, they go to _Eben G. Fine park_ . It's a nice looking place, very natural, and most importantly, it's not a busy place to be. As they pull into a parking space, Jesse practically leaps out of the car before Deanna has even turned it off. He claps his hands together, taking a deep breath of the fresh air around him. _Fresh._ Fresh is good.

"You a big fan of parks?" Deanna asks. She has to know something is amiss with Jesse, but she's probably being too polite to jump right into the heavy stuff.

"Yeah, I used to spend a lot of time in nature back in ABQ. Went to the park with my parents and stuff, especially as a kid." Then he cringes. "Spent a _whole_ lot of time in the boonies doin' cooks, too."

Deanna steps over to stand beside him. She's wearing a nice, loose t-shirt and some sweatpants. Very cozy-looking. Jesse wonders if mentioning his past just now was an awful mistake.

"Does this bring back some memories for you?" asks Deanna.

Jesse's quick to shake his head. "Nah, not really. But, um…" Looking down, he begins to fidget with his hands, picking on a piece of loose skin on his left index finger. "Hey, can I ask you something kinda, uh… personal?"

"Sure, kid. Shoot."

Jesse's gaze fixates on a tree growing nearby, its long branches growing out above where he stands, leaves flowing gently as the wind passes through them. "How are you so good at, like, not drinking?" After a pause, he looks over to Deanna again to gauge her reaction to such a loaded question. "You said you're an alcoholic, but I haven't seen you touch even one drink since I got here. How do you do it?"

"Well, it helps to not have it in the house, for one thing." Deanna's brow furrows, and she walks up to the tree Jesse's staring at so that she may lean against its sturdy trunk. "Plus, knowing what your triggers are and avoiding them like the plague. Having a good support system goes a long way, too. Like, when we got together, Lily swore off alcohol. Not because she doesn't know how to moderate herself, but because she knew I struggled with it."

The thought brings a tiny smile to Jesse's face. "Aw. That's actually super romantic." It checks out, too, given Lily's personality. That woman is one of the most compassionate people Jesse’s ever met; her and Deanna are a perfect fit, as far as he can tell. "She really loves you."

"The feeling's _very_ mutual." Deanna lets out a soft chuckle. "I'm a lucky lady. _The_ luckiest, even. She’s just the absolute light of my life." There’s a look on Deanna’s face that absolutely backs up that claim; it’s a look she often directs to her wife when they’re around each other, like the other woman hangs the stars in the sky. How nice it must be, to have someone like that. Just like that, she soon returns to the main topic. "Anyways, there's a lot that's gone into being sober. Why do you ask?"

"I guess I just wanna know how you got so good at being sober, 'cause you seem so put together." Wringing his fingers together, Jesse adds admittedly, "Plus, I was kinda hoping your knowledge and wisdom and stuff might rub off on me."

Deanna's expression softens. "Have you been feeling like using again?"

Jesse lets out a heavy sigh. It's with a great deal of hesitation that he answers, looking downward. "Yeah. Today's been particularly… _intense_ about that, I guess."

Deanna gives Jesse an understanding look before turning around to look at the rest of the park in its wide, beautiful expanse. "You want to go for a walk? This park has some great hiking trails. Good for blowing off steam."

 _There's_ a change in subject, if Jesse's ever heard of one. Jesse furrows his brows, but he nods anyhow. "Uh, sure. You _did_ hear what I just said, though, right?"

"Of course I did." Walking closer to Jesse, she stops right beside him, throwing her arm around his shoulders. "And I want to keep talking about it, if that's okay. I just need to move around a bit. I'm better at talking when I'm moving in some way."

"Oh. Okay, sure. I get how that is, totally. Let's do that." Jesse smiles meekly and begins walking alongside her. It's hard to know for sure what's on her mind. Deanna doesn't express things as openly and emotionally as Jesse does. Whoever made up the stereotype that men show less emotions or whatever, they're totally wrong. Jesse displays far too _many_ emotions, but for all of that, he's still got such a hard time reading other people's. At least, in situations like this.

Deanna walks close by Jesse. "What do you feel like using, Jesse?"

Well, she's getting to the point now. Jesse sighs heavily and opens up about his feelings. "Meth. It's pretty much _always_ meth." Even saying it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. "And it's fucking _stupid_ , because I _know_ that it's bad for me, and I _know_ that shit ruined my life. Like, you'd think after being abused by a scumbag who was blackmailing you into making it for over a year, or being forced to cook as a _slave_ for six months…"

Jesse all but chokes on his words.

"You'd think I'd hate it. And I _do_. But that's the thing, yo. As much as it’s fucked up my life, and as much as it’s been so bad for me, there are still times when I _miss_ it."

"Do you miss all of the damage it did?" Deanna asks.

Jesse shakes his head. "Fuck no, I don't. It ruined everything, and it made it so I couldn't eat or sleep for _days_ . I guess all I _really_ miss is the way it made me feel, like, _confident_. Gave me that dopamine and that, uh, _executive function_ real good. Plus, it made me way more social and made everything interesting and _liked_ that."

"Would you _want_ to be more social now?"

Jesse hasn't thought about it like that. "I mean… I don’t know. Not necessarily. I'm trying not to draw attention to myself at all. I don't even _want_ to do meth that must so much as I, like, feel a _need_ to. Like, sober me is just some boring dude who isn’t any fun to be around."

“I think you’re very pleasant to be around, Jesse.” Deanna's quiet for a moment as the two of them walk further onto a new nature trail. "I get the _confidence_ thing, though," she says. "Alcohol always made me feel real confident, too. That's one of the reasons I would binge drink. That and, um, way too many other reasons."

"Can I ask about that? The other reasons?" Jesse asks the question gently, his expression cautious but undeniably curious. This is dangerous ground to tread on; it surely must be. Yet, he has to push to find out.

"Well, it dulled the pain of my parents' disapproval, for one thing." Deanna makes a pensive face. "Made being social easier. Made it harder to see how miserable I was most of the time. Dave and I used to get real wasted together to deal with all the trauma we had as kids. We'd enable each over and over again, other like a fucking… _echo chamber,_ I guess."

"Did you ever do anything other than just drink?" Jesse worries that he might be pushing her buttons a bit, but Deanna maintains her baseline level of resolve.

"Oh, yeah. We once went on this bender, when we were younger and the _scary_ thing is that I don't even remember everything that happened." Deanna looks down at her hands, running her fingers through her long, wavy hair. "I remember coke being involved. Maybe MDMA or ketamine, but I can't even pull apart the memories. They all stick together like tar. It’s really a shame that we did that to ourselves."

Jesse's quiet for a while as they walk through the park, contemplating Deanna's words and giving his brain a chance to digest everything. "I’m sorry. I didn't realize you got that deep into drugs before."

"Well, it wasn't _all_ that deep. I mostly just did what my brother was doing. You know, instead of being a responsible big sister and protecting him." There's a hint of bitterness in her voice, a rare tone that causes Jesse to falter.

He casts his gaze downward and stops walking. "Sorry. I didn't mean to push that hard."

Shaking her head, Deanna speaks up again. She stops walking as well. "It's okay, Jesse. It's not your fault. We were just a couple of kids, being miserable and reacting to that in the only way we know how. I don't mean to bring you down with me and my personal baggage."

"That's okay. You're not." Jesse's voice has grown increasingly soft and hesitant. "Maybe it's not my place to say anything, but it still sounds to me like you were an awesome sister. You took him in after everything, like you did with _me_. I think anyone would be lucky to be related to you."

Deanna offers a faint smile, looking downwards to the ground. "Thanks, kid. Anyway, I guess I kind of get what you're going through. Addiction sucks, huh?"

Jesse nods. "Yeah." Conveniently, there's a nearby log on the ground, which he decides to take a seat on for a bit. Deanna walks over to him and he continues. "I'm sorry you gotta struggle with that as well."

"You too," replies Deanna. For a moment, her attention is captured by the moss growing atop the log Jesse picked as a seat. It ripples and swirls like fractals overlapping each other. It almost totally takes Jesse's attention away, too, until Deanna speaks again. "You wanna go to an NA meeting with me?"

The offer makes Jesse feel a pang of guilt and reluctance. Looking away from Deanna, he shakes his head. "I don't… I don't think that's such a good idea, Mrs. D." Not after the way he had been the last time he was in NA. He'd been a fucking _asshole_ back then, and the thought that he might become that way again terrifies him.

"Oh? And why's that?"

Shit, Deanna's getting curious again. Wincing, Jesse replies, "Things really didn't go well last time I went to an NA meeting. It's probably better if I sit this one out."

"I can't force you to go," Deanna says with a little shrug of her shoulders, "but I'm sure it'll be different here, huh? You aren't in ABQ anymore, and the people there are pretty nice. I used to go with Dave."

 _That's almost worse._ Jesse feels like he's gonna puke. His heart is beating out of his chest. Maybe the adrenaline rush from this conversation will be his drug of choice today. "I just don't think I should go, after what happened." Part of him wants to talk about it, and the other part of him wants to clam up forever and shift the conversational topic to something else entirely.

Deanna's brow furrows. "What happened?"

Looking down at his hands, Jesse realizes they're shaking. He swallows thickly. "I did something really bad."

"Yeah?" Taking a seat beside Jesse, Deanna directs a concerned look at him.

For a moment, Jesse considers the absolute gravity of what he's about to tell her. He thinks about how this woman, who lost her younger brother to addiction, has taken him in like he's her own family. He thinks about how he’d be homeless or dead or in grave danger without her support, would bein the absolute shitpit. Then, like a true blue addict, Jesse self sabotages.

"I sold meth to recovering addicts." Boldly, he looks right into Deanna's eyes just in time to catch the look of horror in them.

"You're joking, right?" She squints at him, looking instantly skeptical. "You can't be serious."

Jesse covers his face with his hands in shame, instantly regretting his words like he knew he would. "No, I'm… I'm serious." Already, he regrets it so much, regrets telling her the truth, regrets even going back with her when he hasn't been honest about his truly evil choices.

Folding her arms over her chest and rubbing the bridge of her nose, Deanna shakes her head. She looks like she has no idea what to do with this information --- or with Jesse, for that matter. "Dude, that's so fucked up."

 _There it is,_ the disapproval that Jesse expected. In some screwed up sense, he almost _wants_ it. Deanna's been almost _too_ kind to him. Might as well get the truth out, like ripping off a bandage; and just like ripping off a bandage, it hurts like hell and Jesse must hold back a sob.

"I know," he murmurs from behind his hands. "It's really fucked up. I know it is. I was really stupid."

"Why?" The disbelief in her voice is audible and Jesse wishes he could disappear. "I mean, did someone… Did someone force you to do that?"

The sheer guilt of it all is what brings him over the edge, and within seconds, Jesse is a sobbing mess. "No." He's shaking like a leaf as he cries into his hands, feeling like absolute shit. "I did it 'cause I was greedy as shit and I hated myself."

"Christ," Deanna whispers. "That was pretty shitty of you. Is that how ran your whole business, all that time?"

That question prompts Jesse to move his hands out of the way, staring widely at her. _"No!_ No, I promise it wasn't. It was just… like, an isolated thing, kinda, but I _know_ it was bad. I stopped doing it real fast when I realized how wrong it was, and I regret it more than almost everything else I did." He feels like a fucking clown, tears and snot smudged all over his face and mind going in twenty different directions. This isn’t the person he wants to be; this isn’t who he wants other people to interact with.

It's as if Deanna has iced over. She's standing now, a good bit further from Jesse, and the change in disposition alone feels like a punch to the face. Hell, it might even feel worse than that. "And you really _do_ regret it?"

"Of course I do." Jesse doesn't even miss a beat when he responds. "I swear, I do. It was a horrible, awful, _shitty_ thing to do and I'd never do it again."

Taking a deep breath, Deanna sighs. "All right." For a moment, she goes silent before rubbing her eyes and gesturing back toward the direction in which they came from. "We should probably get back home, then."

In spite of himself, Jesse pulls himself together enough to respond, and after a few seconds, he stands up. He cannot bring himself to make eye contact. “Okay.”

The walk back to the car is, suffice to say, arduous and painful as one might expect it to be for Jesse --- particularly because it's far too quiet.

 

* * *

 

Jesse feels like shit for the rest of the day. He makes a point of isolating as much as possible, laying in his bedroom under the covers and wishing he could actually be as small as he feels. Then, he'd just fucking be infinitesimal, or whatever a good word for tiny is. Small enough to disappear. That'd just be the easy way out, though, wouldn’t it?

Eventually, he hears a knock on the door. Jesse picks his head up, but he doesn't respond just yet.

"You mind if I step in for a second?" Deanna says, her voice only slightly muffled by the door in the way.

Jesse's stomach is already in knots over the conversation that's bound to happen. Surely, she'll be pissed off, and she'll yell, won't she? But he can't just sit there in silence and isolation all day. It's lonely up here.

"Yeah." Jesse reiterated, "I mean, I don't--- I don't mind."

Deanna steps in. She takes a seat at the foot of Jesse's bed, runs a hand through her long hair and looks down at the floor. "Look, um…" The hesitation is clear in her words. Jesse knows how that feels. "I didn't mean to judge you. It's obvious that you regret what you did, and you've been a good kid the whole time you've been here."

Of course, she's not here to praise him. There's more to it than that, and it's obvious when she looks to Jesse and continues talking.

"I just don't get _why_ you'd do it. Maybe you could help me understand. Not that it would make what happened better, but _maybe_ \--- I don't know, maybe there could be some kind of common ground, huh?"

Jesse buries his face in his hands, _again._ "I don't _have_ a good reason for it, is the thing. I'm not a good person, Deanna. There's no excusing the shit I did."

"That's the thing, Jesse. I _still_ don't think you're a bad person. You've been a kind, compassionate, all around cool guy the whole time I've known you. I just want to know your perspective on things so I can understand better."

Jesse looks back to Deanna, tears already flooding his eyes again, and not just because he's feeling insanely vulnerable, but because Deanna _again_ wants to give him another chance. It makes no sense to Jesse at all, why anyone would be this interested in forgiving him. "Why are you being so nice to me, after all the shit I've put you through?"

"Because I care about you," Deanna replies without hesitation. "Anyways, you haven't _put me through_ that much. It's not like I'd let you live in my house if I barely tolerated you. I genuinely like you as a person."

 _Fuck._ Jesse's heart is already melting. He looks downward, his voice shaking as he speaks. "You don't have to sugarcoat things so much. Go ahead and call me stupid and yell at me if that's how you really feel."

"You're _not_ stupid, and I don't yell at _anyone,_ so I especially won't yell at _you,"_ Deanna counters, folding her arms and eyeing Jesse surely. "And I won't force you to open up either, if you really don't want to, but if you _do_ want to, I'm right here."

Jesse sighs. "You really wanna know why I sold to recovering addicts? Why I found a whole group of people just like me and totally, _selfishly_ screwed them over?" He sees Deanna nod _yes,_ and the confirmation of that hits so goddamn hard. This is a subject he'd rather avoid like the plague, but he'll do this for her.

"I was at the meetings in the first place 'cause I got sent to rehab," Jesse starts, "and I got sent to rehab because of Jane."

"Jane?"

"Yeah. My girlfriend that… _you know."_

Deanna gently covers her mouth with her hand. "Oh, no." She must be connecting all of the fucked up dots at this point.

"Yeah." Jesse just continues, his voice thick with emotion and that _magical_ feeling of _crying-congestion_ that he's so familiar with. "We were gonna run away, you know? 'Cause we had _so much_ money. We were ready to leave it all behind, start fresh in New Zealand or wherever else. But we shot up, and the next morning I woke up to her, just… _dead._ Covered in her own vomit." By the time he gets the last words out, they're barely intelligible and more _choked_ out than anything. A painful irony.

"Jesse…" Deanna speaks his name like a soft coo. It's too kind. Jesse inches away from her.

"I found… I found out later Mr. White broke in and let her die, but not until later, and it was still pretty much my fault, 'cause _she_ was recovering too and I used around her and she relapsed. That's not what a good person does." Deanna should _know_ this about Jesse, that he's dangerous. A liability. Full disclosure, and all.

Instead, she's silent for a while before asking, "You want a tissue?"

Jesse gingerly replies, "Yes, please."

Deanna gives him a tissue. He blows his nose. The noise is absolutely disgusting, but if Deanna thinks that too, she doesn't say anything. Jesse is grateful for her simple kindness.

"You're a better person than I could ever hope to be," he tells her between even more sobs. Someone could keep a goddamn tally on how often he cried. He could water the lawn with his tears any day. It’s a miracle he hasn’t died of dehydration.

Deanna just rolls her eyes. "Anyone can offer another person a tissue. It's not that big of a deal."

"You know what I'm talking about." Though, to be honest, Jesse's not sure that many people ever offered him a tissue, anyways. Most people in his life just straight up haven't been this caring toward him. That's basically the whole reason he ended up on meth in the first place.

Deanna takes a deep breath. "Right. Jesus, kid, I'm sorry you went through that."

"Thanks." Jesse replies, wiping his tears with the clean side of the tissue. "After Jane died, I hated myself more than anything. I knew I was a bad guy for letting it happen, and so I _became_ that bad guy, and I used the NA meetings to get customers after Mr. White… _Walter_ screwed me over. And later on, I met Andrea and Brock, and then I realized what I was doing was evil and shitty, and I stopped right after that."

"Andrea," Deanna repeats. "You've said that name before. You painted her, didn't you?"

"I did paint her," Jesse confirms, voice sullen and distant. God, he misses her so much. "I loved her so much. She had a son, Brock. Eight years old. He's the real reason I stopped selling at NA. Shit, he's one of the reasons I wanted out of the business anyways."

Wiping more tears, Jesse can feel himself coming down from the latest _crying session_. Now, he's just exhausted.

"So, yeah, there's some baggage for you to, like, process."

"Hmm," Deanna hums in an acknowledging manner. "You’ve really been through it all. I’m so sorry.” She still sounds a bit distant, even though she’s softened a bit toward Jesse, and that slight shift from her normal relaxed nature still makes Jesse’s stomach turn.

He rubs his eyes, clearing his throat. “You don’t need to be sorry, Deanna. I should be the one apologizing. Like, seriously --- I get it, if you don’t want me around after everything I’ve…”

“Honey, stop with that talk.” Deanna interrupts him, eyeing Jesse soberly. “I _do_ want you around. Even after learning about what you did. I’m not saying what you did wasn’t terrible, but _you_ already know it’s terrible. After all of this, I still don’t think you’re an inherently bad person. You’ve just…” Trailing off, she makes some kind of gesture with her hands to indicate how she feels. “You’ve been dealt a shitty hand in life.”

“I just don’t…” Jesse, too, struggles to finish his sentences. How poetic. “I don’t get it. I’m still not entirely used to people being nice to me like this. It feels like I don’t even deserve it.”

Deanna sits back a little, supporting herself with her arms upon the bed. “Well, get used to it, kid. You’re out of that world now, and you’ve got a chance to start fresh. Now, if you don’t want to go to NA meetings just yet, that’s okay. I won’t force it. And just so you know, I’m _not_ going to turn you away if you relapse, but I really don’t want that to happen. It’d break my heart to see you go back to meth after everything you’ve gone through.”

Blue eyes cast downward, Jesse feels an odd sense of acceptance. “I’m not gonna. I just… I don’t know how to deal with the urge to use anymore. I’ve been sober before, but --- it’s hard, after being kept in that hole in the ground. I don’t have, like, any confidence anymore, and I can’t focus well at all, and I _hate_ that.”

Suddenly, he feels an arm wrap around his shoulder. It’s Deanna, of course. She pats his back supportively. “Let’s talk you through it, then. Whenever you feel like you want to use, just straight up tell me, and we’ll ride it out together. You don’t have to deal with the cravings alone.”

“I don’t wanna ask you to do that for me,” Jesse says, his voice raw and cracking. “That’s too much work to put you through. You’ve already done so much for me, like way more than anyone should.”

Deanna leans her head against his, and her long wavy hair falls all over his face. Jesse doesn’t push it away. “You’re worth it,” she says, “even if you don’t realize that yet.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [How now? A Rat?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20521601) by [SegaBarrett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett)




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